


The Mating Dance of the Majestic Hippo

by GutterBall



Series: Dance Lessons [1]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Cussing, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, The Proposal AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-04-21 01:12:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 35
Words: 74,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4809269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GutterBall/pseuds/GutterBall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Proposal AU nobody asked for! For those who haven't seen The Proposal, Raleigh is a mild-mannered, long-suffering assistant to the editor in chief, the uptight control freak Chuck Hansen. When Chuck is set for deportation, he blackmails Raleigh into a fake engagement with the end game of marrying him for the three years required for him to become a citizen. Unfortunately, the U.S. Immigration offices are not impressed, forcing the two into visiting Raleigh's family in Alaska to bolster their claims of genuine love.</p><p>The only problem: they kinda despise each other. Which is when all the fun starts.</p><p>Title from the lovely discovery that a male hippo initiates mating by flinging shit at his intended mate. It seemed appropriate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Tiếng Việt available: [[Vietnamese translation] The Mating Dance of the Majestic Hippo](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8907637) by [higherthan_ (all_their_intricacies)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/all_their_intricacies/pseuds/higherthan_)



> Since becoming "editor in chief" at twenty-one strains credulity, I made Chuck thirty-one, though I kept his other mile-markers the same. Raleigh is his same age, but I made Mako a little closer to his age (not enough to make a difference - just for plot purposes).

At thirty-one years of age, Chuck Hansen finally had his life quite as he liked it. Every day, he awoke at the same time, punished his elliptical for an hour whilst reading submissions, then showered. He ate dry toast with orange juice whilst reading more submissions, brushed his teeth, dressed as intimidatingly as was possible in a business environment, and walked out his front door by 7:25.

Every morning. Without fail. The ritual of his morning was as reliable as a caesium clock.

People seemed to step out of his way as he strode toward 1251 Avenue of the Americas, where he worked as editor in chief of Shattered Dome Publishing, the largest publisher of science fiction and fantasy works in the country. Rain or shine, he breached the main doors at 7:55. His security card granted him access to the express elevator, unlike the plebeians, so he was never jostled or held up by the last minute crowd.

Every military-precision morning culminated with him throwing open Shattered's frosted glass doors at 8:00 AM exactly, and God help whoever wasn't in their seat and logged in when he arrived.

Chuck Hansen did not tolerate tardiness.

Chuck Hansen did not _tolerate_.


	2. WEDNESDAY

Rolling over, Raleigh Becket let himself luxuriate in the familiar weight of his comfortable quilt, the soft, warm embrace of his pillow and mattress, and the glorious feeling of leisurely waking up after a blissfully deep sleep. Slowly opening his eyes, he blinked with muzzy happiness for a few moments, appreciating how the morning light struck the brick accent wall and turned the red-brown a glorious, autumnal auburn.

Wait. The light from the window usually didn't reach that far. Why...?

Frowning, he rolled his head to look at his alarm clock, only to sit straight up in bed when he realized the red numbers were flashing. Dammit! Had there been another brownout?

He really needed to invest in a battery back-up. Or set an alarm on his phone. Something with sirens and strobing emergency lights and a category rating system for exactly how badly he was screwed. This was the third brownout this month, and he really should have done something to prepare by now.

Beyond screwed, he flung himself from his bed's clutches, snatched up his cell phone, and moaned. Late. So, so late.

Dressing while brushing his teeth, hair still dripping from the shower that had barely been more than a leap in and leap out, he ran over his mental checklist for the morning. Forget breakfast. No time. Forget exercise. Forget shaving. Forget coffee-- no. He couldn't forget that one.

The line would be _so long_.

Cursing in French and English both -- in times of great emotional stress, he sometimes forgot which language he was speaking -- he snagged his keys and phone and the messenger bag with the manuscript he'd pinned his hopes on, then sprinted out into the streets. For once, his old high school football moves served him well, and he hit Starbucks in record time, his hair mercifully dried by the wind his flight had created.

The line was infinite. He'd never make it through. And if he showed up without coffee--

"Raleigh! Hey!"

His eyes widened as he realized the usual barista was waving him forward. Apologizing as he wove through the line -- _cutting_ ; he was _cutting in line_ right now -- he made his way to the front where the girl smiled and offered him two ventis, sleeved and ready to go.

How...?

She smiled, showing off a dimple. "You weren't here at your usual time."

So she'd made them... for him... anyway? Blushing, he handed her a twenty and busted out his most blinding smile. " _Literally_ saved my life. Thank you!"

She shrugged like it wasn't a big deal, and any other day, he'd have asked for her name and phone number. But this wasn't any other day, so he tipped her a wink (and the change from the twenty), turned, and wove back out, ignoring the multiple stink eyes from the line he'd just avoided.

Then, he sprinted some more.

"Sorry! Excuse me! I'm so sorry! I'll just-- excuse-- no, just-- sorry!" was his litany for the next ten minutes, but he made it to the elevator with eight minutes to spare. Though he nearly lost an arm and/or throat-punched a hapless bank teller as he lurched between the closing doors.

Pausing for breath, he tried not to look around and meet the judging glares. "Everyone okay?"

Murmurs. No one sounded like they were bleeding.

"Good. So am I."

Although he was pretty sure he'd twisted his knee somehow. Didn't matter. By the time the doors opened on the forty-fifth floor, he was fairly certain he had himself together. His tie was straight, his hair was... not atrocious, he had the manuscript, and -- more importantly -- he had coffee. Everything was going to be great from this moment on.

In retrospect, he really should have foreseen the collision with the mail guy's cart as he turned to make sure he really hadn't throat-punched that poor bank lady. His chest scalded, and he couldn't have stopped the "Sssssweet _Shoggoth!_ " that escaped him if his life had depended on it. Which it very well might, if he'd just spilled both coffees all over himself.

"Uh... sorry, dude."

He stood, arms extended, dripping, adrenaline racing, and tried to take stock. The mail guy was unharmed. Raleigh's shirt and tie were a total loss.

One coffee was pristine.

_Thank you, Cthulhu, or whoever just saved my ass._

He reached his desk, put everything down (except the exploded coffee, which went directly into the trash can) on the run, and made his way to Tendo's desk. His only true friend in this sea of office drone faces, Tendo smirked before Raleigh even made it all the way around his cubicle wall.

"Rough morning, Becket boy?"

Raleigh had no time for pleasantries. "I need your shirt and tie. Right now."

Tendo blinked, the smirk fading. "...What?"

Nervously eyeing the doors, he bargained for his life. "Tendo, this is a Category Four. So... tickets to the Met for you and Allison. You have five seconds. Four. Three."

"Okay, okay--"

He was still tucking in the too-small off-beige shirt and straightening Tendo's ridiculous bowtie when the Scourge of the Forty-Fifth Floor shoved through the big, glass double doors as if they had personally offended him. Eight o'clock on the dot. Raleigh had left Tendo still washing expensive designer coffee out of Raleigh's expensive, blue, not-quite-designer shirt in the men's room, but he'd just have to feel bad about that later.

Right now, he had to be at the door to his boss's office with coffee in hand in three, two, one.

"Mornin', boss."

Charles Hansen sailed by without pause, snagging his coffee as if he had no doubt it would be exactly where he put his hand at 8:00 and thirty-seven seconds. Because, thus far, it always had been. Raleigh made damn well sure of it.

Swept along in the wake of focused intensity that always seemed like borderline anger, Raleigh hopped into step without hesitation. Employees moved at Mr. Hansen's speed. He did not move at theirs.

The man was a shark, all power and forward momentum.

"Conference call in ten minutes--"

"About the fall releases. I know."

That was another thing about Mr. Hansen. He knew. No matter what was being said, he already knew and was annoyed, as only an Australian could be, at being told again. But God help the fool who _didn't_ tell him something he _didn't_ already know.

"Gottlieb called a staff meeting at 9:00--"

"Right. Did you call that great bloody weird bloke? The one with the beard and all the monster figurines?"

Raleigh ran his still-laggy brain over Mr. Hansen's authors. "Del Toro?"

"Yeah, that one."

"I did." Those were the safest words in the English language when uttered in Mr. Hansen's office, and Raleigh was thrilled to be able to say them. "I told him that if he didn't have his latest revisions on your desk by tomorrow, we're pushing his winter release back to summer. No one wants to read Lovecraftian horror in the summer."

"Great." Mr. Hansen didn't sound as pleased as the word would suggest.

"Also, your immigration lawyer called and said it's _imperative_ that you--"

"Cancel the conference call, push the meeting to this afternoon, and ignore the lawyer." Said as if speaking these things made them already so. "And get PR working on a press release. Beacham agreed to sell his selkie series to Netflix."

Raleigh paused, eyes wide. "Really?" Shattered Dome Publishing had been trying to get the guy to sell the TV/film rights for the enormously popular series for the better part of a year. "Nicely done."

"When I want your praise, I'll tell you what to say."

Turning to his computer without so much as a by-your-leave, Mr. Hansen lifted his cup to his mouth, then paused just as Raleigh was about to make his escape.

"Oi."

One foot still midstep, he froze.

"Who is Jillian S, and why does she want me to ring her up?"

Ice ran through his veins. As far as he could tell, Mr. Hansen hadn't noticed the bowtie (or the chest-constrictingly tight fit of the shirt under his suit jacket), but his mind completely blanked on an excuse for a random woman's number on the boss's coffee cup.

So, the truth. "Well... that cup was originally my cup."

Those piercing grey-blue eyes didn't so much as twitch as they met Raleigh's for the first time all morning. "And I'm drinking your coffee... why?"

"...Because your coffee spilled."

That basilisk gaze didn't waver during the test sip. "You drink cinnamon double-shot mocha lattes, whole milk, extra foam."

_Own it. It's your only hope._

"I do." He forced his most sincere expression. "It's like cozy in a cup. Reminds me of a fireside in winter."

Unimpressed, Mr. Hansen continued to stare. "What a coincidence."

_Fuck it. Lie. Lie like a cheap faux-Turkish rug._

"I know, right? I mean, I would never drink the same coffee as you, just in case yours spilled." The phone rang. Thank the Old Ones. "That would be pathetic." He snatched up the phone as his Torquemada of a boss turned back to his computer. "Charles Hansen's office."

"And is our fearless leader in?"

Oh, joy. As if his morning hadn't been bad enough, now there was this guy.

"Good morning, Newt. Yes, of course, he--"

Without turning away from his computer, Mr. Hansen gestured toward Dr. Geiszler's office. This... was not good.

"Uh, actually, he was just on his way to see you."

"...Really?" The usually hyper little editor sounded... hesitant. "Great. Uh... come on down."

Hanging up with a new feeling of foreboding, Raleigh couldn't help but do the unthinkable and ask the question. "Why are we going to Newt's office?"

Logging out with an unusual flourish, Mr. Hansen twisted to his feet with a grace unusual for such a sturdy guy and rolled his shoulders like a boxer, the gesture at odds with the snugly tailored fit of his unthinkably expensive suit.

This... was not good.


	3. Chapter 3

One thing out of place.

Chuck kept his stride steady and didn't bother reining in his scowl. All it took was one thing out of place, and the whole morning was derailed. On one hand, it was a bloody good thing Beacham had finally caved under his hard sell. It was a hell of a deal, both for the author and for Shattered. On the other, it was a catalyst, and catalysts invoked change. That was Chemistry 101.

And why was his bloody assistant getting phone numbers from random women? Becket had better not take the floozy up on it. Chuck had work to do, and when Chuck worked, Becket worked.

He had no doubt the wanker had warned everyone of his impending walk down to Geiszler's office, but that was only his concern if it kept Becket from being the back-up he needed. Fortunately -- for Becket, of course -- his usually reliable assistant was on his left the instant Chuck stepped out of his office.

Unfortunately, the bloke started talking.

"Did you read the manuscript I put on your desk last night?"

Another thing out of place. Becket had never given him a manuscript before. Tightening his jaw, he brushed off the question, as ignoring it didn't seem to be an option. "Read a chapter. Wasn't impressed."

If he'd hoped that would end the discussion, he should've paid better attention to the morning's track record for predictability.

"Can I say something?"

"No."

"Sir, I've read thousands of manuscripts, and this is the first one I've ever given you."

_Tell me something I don't know, mate._

"There's a real story in there, a _good_ story. The kind of story that kept this publisher great while pulp magazines and serial novels died out."

Chuck didn't grace that with so much as a snort. Luckily, he saw Gottleib's second, Mr. Choi, smirking whilst adjusting a damp, stained tie over a wet, wrung-out, blotchy blue shirt. He started to comment, then realized ol' Elvis Hair was wearing a _tie_. A real, Windsor-knot tie.

Which might explain why Becket was wearing a goddamn bowtie.

Diversion approved.

"Wrong. Also, I think you _do_ drink my coffee just in case of disaster, which is, in fact, pathetic."

Becket tried a grin. The bloke needed a shave. The blonde stubble was just enough to catch the light. Yet another different thing today.

"Or impressive?"

This time, he did snort. "I'd be more impressed if you didn't bollocks it up in the first place." The hint of amusement faded as they reached Geiszler's door, and Chuck felt all his focus come back to the fore. "Remember, you're just back-up in here. You fuck this up, and I'll drop you like a sack of Mothra shit."

Becket blinked. Maybe that was a bit harsh.

Too late now.


	4. Chapter 4

Clearly, this was more than a social visit.

Raleigh tried not to be pissed off at the insulting threat -- had he ever failed to be exactly what Mr. Hansen needed him to be? -- but it was difficult. As usual, he managed to swallow it down, but only because... well, he needed this position. And he needed the jerk to take another look at that manuscript, which the stubborn bastard would never do if he was furious.

So, silent and solid at his boss's back, he waited for whatever this was to be over.

"Ah, our wunderkind and his loyal lackey."

_Really, Newt? You, too?_

Gritting his jaw, Raleigh remained silent as Mr. Hansen took a slow, oddly proprietary look around the office. Dr. Newt Geiszler was something of an oddball, from his tattoos to his skinny ties, and his office reflected that. Where Charles Hansen's work space was open and minimalist, all about getting the work done, Newt's walls were covered with foreign creature feature posters. His bookshelves did contain actual books from his authors, but they also overflowed with figurines and maquettes of everything from Godzilla to baby Cloverfield to the xenomorph queen from Aliens.

Mr. Hansen paused and focused on a new bookshelf. "That's a new one, yeah?"

Newt perked up. "My robot wall? Yeah. Well, I mean, most of the action figures there are collectibles and that Robby the Robot is an original 1950s model." The guy actually smirked, unaware of the peril brewing in the air. "But I guess you could say it's all new to my office."

Mr. Hansen muttered under his breath, but Raleigh clearly made out the word "smartass."

Then, his boss straightened and rolled his shoulders again. "Newt, I'm letting you go."

Big eyes blinked behind heavy-framed hipster glasses. Newt's mouth dropped open.

Thinking fast, Raleigh silently reached over and shut the door.

"I... what?"

Flexing -- perhaps unconsciously, perhaps not -- Hansen expounded. "I told you a dozen times to get Beacham to sell those rights, and you didn't do it. You're fired."

Newt sputtered. "But... you can't... I mean, that's impossible. I told you, Beacham'll never sell. He doesn't want some network conglomerate to do a hackjob on his characters."

One ginger eyebrow rose. "Odd then that he just closed a deal with Netflix this morning." Was... was that a smirk? "You didn't even ring him up, did you?"

Mouth opening and closing, Newt tried to make words and failed. "Uh wuh... huh?"

Now, Hansen closed his stance, crossing his arms and looking unbearably smug with his shoulders and biceps bulging. Raleigh could almost feel sorry for Geiszler -- who went maybe a hundred fifty soaking wet to Hansen's two-twenty of solid muscle -- if the little punk hadn't once told him that scars were overrated because they were accidental, where tattoos were on purpose.

"I know he can be a bit scary. Ya know, for you." _Hosnap_. "So, I'll be a love on this one and give you two months to line something up, at which point you can say you resigned. Fair enough, yeah?"

Without waiting for a response -- probably a good thing, because in Raleigh's estimation of Newt's gobsmacked expression, a response could be a long time coming -- Mr. Hansen let down his arms and strolled out of the room, headed back for his office. Raleigh kept pace.

"How's it look?"

Blinking, he realized he wasn't quite done being back-up yet, after all. Trying to look casual, he tossed a glance back over his shoulder, glad for the large bay-type window running along this side of Newt's office.

"He's pacing. Uh-oh." Wincing, Raleigh wished he could look away. "He's got the crazy eyes."

"Shit." Hansen sighed, still striding. "Don't do it, Geiszler."

But Raleigh could already tell. Newt was going to do it.

Sure enough: "You. Heartless. Fuck."

The entire office sat up, like the phrase was one of those cheesy church camp songs where everyone stood up or sat down when a word started with a certain letter.

Mr. Hansen stopped walking, his shoulders squaring.

"You can't fire me, you Aussie prick!"

The editor in chief turned around, features surprisingly relaxed for someone who couldn't possibly be used to anyone yelling at him. Raleigh found a convenient desk to sink down on. He hated scenes like this.

"You think I don't see what you're doing? Cutting my legs out from under me with this Beacham thing to show off to the board? Because you know what? You are _threatened_ by me. I'm a fucking rockstar and you don't like the new direction I'm taking the company. Admit it!"

Raleigh crossed one arm across his chest, rested his elbow in his hand, and used the other to cover the lower half of his face. He had no idea what his expression was doing right now, but he didn't want either combatant to see it.

"You are a bigger monster than any creature you've ever published."

A faint smile curved Mr. Hansen's mouth. Raleigh closed his eyes and shook his head.

"Newt, do yourself a favor and quit whilst you're ahead." Hansen even sounded amused. This was at least a Category Three. And only that low because it wasn't Raleigh in the crosshairs.

Because Newt had no intention of quitting while he was ahead. That had never once been his frenetic, overblown, flashy style.

"You think you can treat us all like your personal servants because you have absolutely no life outside of this office. You think you _own_ us. If you weren't such a flaming douchebag, I'd maybe feel sorry for you. Because you know what?"

Hansen didn't bother answering. He just kept smiling that faint, dangerous smile.

"When you die, you're gonna have _no one_ and _nothing_. Deal with that, asshole."

Without so much as a shoulder-roll, the editor in chief retook the floor. Raleigh fought with everything in him not to squirm.

"Listen up, Newt." Unlike his usual brusque, even obnoxious Aussie tone, this Mr. Hansen voice was all quiet lethality, made even more deadly by that little smile. "I didn't fire you because you're a threat. I fired you because you're too busy collecting tattoos and movie posters to bother dealing with your authors. You're shoddy with paperwork, entitled because of your bullshit doctorate, and if you say one more word, I will personally throw you out on your scrawny little hipster ass."

Newt opened his mouth, but Mr. Hansen cut off any protest by raising a single finger.

"One. Word. And you'll be eating concrete outside, and I'll have Becket over there film it with his phone and put it up on that goddamn seven-second website. What's it called?"

Uncovering his mouth for the scant second it took to reply, Raleigh answered. "The Vine?"

"Right." Hansen never looked away from Newt's increasingly wide, trapped-looking eyes. "Understood?"

No comment from the Peanut Gallery.

"Good."

The boss turned on his heel and strode away, all shark-like forward motion, and Raleigh could only follow in his wake, not wanting to look back and see Dr. Geiszler fall apart in front of the whole office.

"Becket."

"Yes, sir?"

"Have security move that new bookshelf into my office."

Raleigh schooled his expression in case the shark in a business suit glanced his way. "Just the shelving?"

Mr. Hansen put a hand on his office door and actually paused. "The shelf and everything on it. And get 'round this weekend. We have to review all his pending scripts and get back with their authors."

This time, he couldn't hide his expression. Of course, the wide-eyed surprise was the one thing the big jerk caught.

" _This_ weekend?"

Cool eyes looked him up and down. "What, like you got plans? Gonna call Jillian S?"

_Don't splutter, don't splutter, don't splutter._

"No, of course not. Just... my grandmother's ninetieth birthday party is this weekend--"

Not even bothering to scoff, Hansen rolled his eyes and turned to go into his office.

"--that I asked off Friday for, like, two months ago, but hey, no biggie. I can cancel." _Fake it 'til you make it, Becket._ "Didn't wanna go anyway. You're, uh, saving me a weekend of misery. Thanks, sir." The door shut, and the jerk hadn't even looked back. "Good talk, boss."

Sighing, he went to his own desk and sat down, looking with dread at the phone. He did not look forward to this phone call.


	5. Chapter 5

Chuck stared in the mirror, straightening his tie and smoothing down his lapels. He did not like changes. They left him feeling... concerned, maybe. Discontent.

A little out of control.

His jaw tightened, and he strode out of his private washroom and headed for his assistant's desk to see how things were progressing with Geiszler's scripts. Becket was hunched over the phone, whispering furiously. Curious despite himself, he inched closer, hoping none of the usually oblivious office drones noticed him and raised the alarm.

"--'m sorry, but what can I do? Tell Mamie I'm sorry, but I have to work this weekend. Yes, I know I asked off in plenty of time, but I've worked too damn hard for this promotion to throw it away now. Oh, I'm _positive_ Dad is pissed, but--"

Someone gasped, causing a flurry of sudden attention-paying to ripple through the office. Dammit.

Becket's voice suddenly rose to his normal speaking voice. "--we here at Shattered Dome Publishing take our two-month turnaround very seriously, so if you'll just be patient, I'm sure you'll hear back soon. Thank you for calling." Becket hung up and tried to look innocent. "Yes, boss?"

Unimpressed, Chuck raised an eyebrow. "That your mum?"

To his credit, the bloke didn't try to lie. A good thing, because he was rubbish at it. "Yeah."

Stiffening but trying to hide it, he asked the more important question. "She tell you to quit?"

Again, no lying. "Every single time." The phone rang, saving the poor idiot. "Mr. Hansen's office." Blue eyes widened. "Right. I'll tell him." He hung up. "Gottlieb wants to see you."

Irritation made him blunt again. "Fuck." Yet another unusual thing. "Fine, whatever. Come rescue me in ten minutes, though. We got a shiteload of work to do."

"Okay."

It was nice to have someone on his side. Even if the bloke was about as bruiser as a puppy.

Muttering under his breath as he swiped into the express elevator and headed up a floor, Chuck let his mind run over the manuscripts he was currently considering, mentally tallying in the twenty or so he suspected Geiszler had been sitting on. Definitely a long weekend.

Maybe Becket would bring in that amazing Szechuan shrimp take-out Saturday. Chuck usually avoided shrimp like the plague -- far too tempted to punch anyone who advised him to "throw another one on the barbie, mate" -- but that shit had been amazing. Spicy and pungeant and somehow a little sweet, though it wasn't actually sweetened.

With such pleasant thoughts in mind, he was able to stroll past Gottlieb's obnoxious secretary and into his office with... well, not a smile, but better than a scowl. The doctor himself -- natty in his tweeds, his silver-tipped cane both functional and an accessory -- sat behind his desk. Tendo Choi sat on one corner, still smirking, though his shirt had dried some.

Chuck was tempted to ask, but he didn't. He knew the answer.

"Oi, Hermann, Elvis." He managed a smirk, which was almost a smile. "To what do I owe the pleasure? My second raise?"

Gottlieb smiled a bit. "Not quite, although congratulations are in order for the Netflix thing. That's huge, Charles. It'll definitely get our name and his out there."

Since that was all true, Chuck merely nodded and waited.

"Charles...."

His almost-good mood faded. He did not like that tone. Or the way the stodgy Brit pulled over a manila folder and started shuffling through the paperwork inside.

"Do you remember when we decided you wouldn't go to La Mole Comic Con in Mexico City because you're not allowed out of the country whilst your visa application is pending?"

His eyes narrowed. "Yeah?"

Gottlieb looked up at him over the top of his glasses. "And you went anyway?"

Suddenly defensive, he felt his shoulders squaring. "If I hadn't, we'd have lost del Toro to Wizards of the Coast."

Gottlieb finally selected a piece of paper and held it up, tilting his head back to peer through his glasses at it. "It seems these colonials don't care who publishes del Toro."

Elvis leaned forward, not quite interrupting. "Mr. Hansen, we just spoke to your immigration attorney. He's been trying to call you for weeks."

Hadn't Becket mentioned something about that just this morning? God, _another_ different thing.

Gottlieb sighed. "Charles, I'm sorry, but your visa application has been denied." When he looked up, his sympathetic eyes looked enormous, thanks to the glasses lenses. "You're being deported."

He rocked back on his heels, more stunned than he would ever admit. Deported? That was a thing these fucking Yanks still did?

But... he'd lived here over a decade. He paid his taxes. He owned a million dollar flat in Manhattan that only appreciated in value every year he lived there. How the hell could they just deport him?

When he didn't... _couldn't_... respond, Gottlieb went on, even more apologetically. "Apparently, there were a few bits of paperwork that weren't turned in?"

Jesus. Jesus Christ. He remembered Becket putting a folder on his desk with a sticky note reading "FILL THIS OUT ASAP _VERY IMPORTANT_ " in bold, black Sharpie with about a dozen exclamation points, but... surely he'd... hadn't he?

His voice unacceptably faint, he tried to respond. "There's... there's something we can do, yeah? This isn't set in stone, right?"

Gottlieb's expression was... pinched. "We can refile, of course. Unfortunately, Charles... you'll have to leave the country for at least a year whilst it's being processed."

A whole fucking year? What the fuck kind of system was that? He couldn't spend a year in--

Trying desperately to cover his growing panic, Chuck smoothed down his tie. "Well, that's not ideal, of course, but... videoconferencing... Skype... that sort of thing--"

Elvis no longer looked smirky. He looked almost as pinched as Gottlieb. "Mr. Hansen, if you're deported, you can't work for an American company."

His mouth snapped shut.

Gottlieb sighed. "Look, son. Until this is all resolved, I have no choice but to turn over operations to... Newton Geiszler."

Chuck's spine stiffened. "Newt. Geiszler." Appalled, he stared at first Gottlieb, then Choi. "Just-got-fired Newt Geiszler?"

Raising his hands in mitigation, Gottlieb tried to plead with him. "Please, Charles, he is the only person in the company with the experience to do the job. If there were any other way, we'd do it. Is there _anything_ you can think of?"

As gobsmacked as Newt had been upon being fired, Chuck spluttered. "You can't be bloody serious?"

"Charles, we are desperate. If there was any way for you to stay, we would do it in a heartbeat, but--"

A loud, obnoxious knock interrupted, and they all three turned to glare at the door, which opened to reveal Becket in that stupid goddamned bowtie, and Chuck did not have time for this shit.

"What?"

Okay, that was probably a bit harsh. Luckily, Becket seemed unaffected.

"Mr. Becket, we are in a very important meeting here."

"Sorry to interrupt, Dr. Gottlieb, Mr. Hansen, but Mary Parent called from--"

_Oh, Jesus, the plan... the rescue...._

Trying to cut the wanker off because he needed the bloody opposite of an interruption right now, Chuck closed his eyes. "Yeah, I know, the thing with the person--"

"--just... she says it's crucially important, but I said you were otherwise engaged, so if you could just--"

A lightbulb went on over his head. Almost literally. Everything suddenly seemed clear.

_Engaged._

His manner changed on the instant, and Becket, as in tune with him as a barometer with a thunderstorm, caught it instantly and shut up, looking confused. Keeping his gestures small and hopefully contained, he jerked his head in a "get your ass over here" gesture.

Becket blinked. Blinked like a goddamn confused puppy.

Willing him with the force of his mind, Chuck made the gesture again, then turned back to Gottlieb with a huge -- and, thus, patently false -- smile.

"Gentlemen."

Thank fuck, but Becket finally sidled hesitantly up to his side, like the loyal dog he was.

"I understand completely what you're saying, but thankfully, none of that will be necessary."

Elvis's eyes narrowed. Gottlieb's eyebrows rose.

"See, there's a little something you gents don't know." Hoping with everything in him that Becket could, just this once, roll with the unexpected, Chuck reached out and took the bloke's elbow in a vice grip, pulling him a bit closer. "Y'see, Raaaleigh and I... are... uh... engaged."

The room went as silent and tense as the air before a storm broke.

"Yeah." Another tug, and Becket stood stiff as a board against his side, idiot blue eyes wide and terrified. Chuck forced his smile wider. "We're engaged."

Becket leaned down a little, unable to take his eyes off the growing incredulity from the other side of the room. "Wh... who is...?"

"We are." His smile probably shouldn't show so many teeth, but how could he help it when they were clenched together so hard? "We're getting married."

"We...?" The bloke sounded almost drunk. "Are. We... are."

There. That sounded much better. More sure.

Still pretty pole-axed, though.

After another moment's astonished silence, Choi ventured a question. "Uh... isn't he your secretary?"

As if a Pavlovian response, the word "assistant" left Becket's mouth, clear and sure, though the poor bloke was still obviously rolled.

Chuck showed him some mercy, the gears in his head really spinning now. " _Executive_ assistant, actually, but... well, not the first time someone's gotten randy with a secretary, eh, Elvis?"

Choi blushed and shut up, even as Gottlieb shot the bloke a single, judging raised eyebrow.

"Anyway, gents, it's like this: Raaaleigh and I...." Damn, but that name felt strange coming out of his mouth. He didn't think he'd ever said it before today, and if he was honest, he wasn't sure he was saying it right. "We're just... y'know, star-crossed lovers and... well... let's hope we don't go all Shakespearean on each other or anything, but--"

Jesus. He knew he was no one's idea of a romantic, but he didn't used to be such shite at this.

"--all the late nights, the killer take-out, the overnights in hotels for book fairs and all that shit just...."

Becket was trying like hell to get into it, but all he could do was make the occasional single-syllable interjection. If Chuck didn't know better, he'd think it was more than shock making the bloke so bumfuzzled.

If he didn't know better, he'd think the bastard was right out.

"Y'know, we tried to fight it, but... well... look at this big bloke."

Okay, that was a bit much.

Blushing a little, he ignored the growing amusement clouding out Gottlieb's astonishment and the outright hilarity blooming on Elvis's stupid face and hesitantly, awkwardly put an arm around Becket's waist. Becket felt about as relaxed as a coked out gibbon holding a live electric wire.

He quickly dropped his arm away.

"So... we're good, yeah? Because we're... uh... _we're_ good. Yeah?"

Becket blinked. "Yeah."

Gottlieb put a hand over his mouth. "Charles?"

Embarrassed beyond belief and just wanting to be done with this whole thing, Chuck grunted. "Eh?"

"Make it legal, yes?"

When Chuck only looked confused, Gottlieb smirked and pointed at his left ring finger and the gold band there. Light dawned.

"Oi! Right. The ring and the... er...." Okay, so they weren't fooled for a moment, but they'd go along with it. Relieved and mortified in turns, Chuck started to back out of the office, gesturing for Becket to follow. "We should... uh... get ourselves down to Immigration, then, yeah? Rye-leigh?"

Nope. That didn't sound right, either.

Whatever. Becket would just have to get used to it.


	6. Chapter 6

Raleigh heard the whispers and chuckles the second he stepped into the main office behind Mr. Hansen. Charles, he should probably start calling him.

He shuddered. He couldn't even begin to process the idea.

More than one fellow employee pointed at the boss and waggled their eyebrows as he went past. Worse, more than one employee gave him a flat headshake of disapproval. How the hell did they all find out so fast?

God, he wished Tendo was down here so he could demand to know what the hell just happened in there and what, exactly, he'd just gotten himself into.

Had he actually agreed to anything? He didn't really remember. It was a blur. A terrible, confusing blur.

Unthinking, he followed Hansen into his office, then just stood there, waiting. For instructions? For information? Either way, he was doomed to disappointment because Hansen, the stubborn bastard, ignored him and went back to work, tossing aside the heavy binder clip from one of Newt's submissions without so much as looking up.

A minute passed. Two.

"Mr. Hansen?"

The jerk _still_ didn't look up. "What."

It wasn't a question, but... he needed to know. "I don't really understand what's happening right now."

Okay, that was probably inviting another lovely comparison to a sack of fictional shit, but whatever. He was completely lost.

Sighing heavily -- and, for the first time, looking vaguely human and even a little tired -- his boss set aside the manuscript, laced his fingers together on the desk, and looked up. Eye contact with Mr. Hansen was disconcerting under the best of times, but now, it felt downright _weird_.

"I thought the situation was glaringly obvious, Becket. Or would you rather I get deported and you lose your job?"

He blinked. "I don't...?"

"Geiszler would sack you before the door had a chance to hit me in the ass. I guarantee it because it's what I would do in his situation. You know what that means, Becket? All the weekends and overnights, all the middle-of-the-night ring-ups to pick up my dry cleaning before work, all the take-out and coffee and birthday scones were for nothing, and your dreams of representing the next J.R.R. Tolkien or Isaac Asimov go right down the bog."

Hansen's voice didn't raise or even change tone from that slightly tired, straightforward drawl. It made the whole thing sound... terrifying, actually. All his dreams going up in smoke.

But... he had to....

"So like it or not, Becket, for the nonce, that future you never talk about is now leg-shackled directly to mine." A shrug, as if none of this was important. "No worries, though. After the required time period, we get a quickie divorce and go on about our merry. Bonzer?"

The phone rang. Raleigh opened his mouth, then shut it again.

"Bonzer." Sliding the manuscript back over, his boss... _fiancé_... nodded toward the phone. "Gonna get that, mate?"

Speechless, he turned away, walked out of the office to his own slightly-secluded cubicle just outside, sat down, and thunked his forehead down onto his desk.


	7. Chapter 7

Chuck waited until after lunch to drag his bullshit fiancé down to the immigration office. Mostly, he'd needed to get his own head together without Becket's wide-eyed panic making him feel like the monster Geiszler had called him. Which was a stupid thought. Useless and inefficient.

He'd scheduled himself an hour to get this bullshit paperwork out of the way, but the second he stepped into the bland, blocky government building, he realized his mistake. This fucked up day just kept handing him lemons, this time in the form of a queue that went on until approximately infinity.

Yeah, well... it was about time to make some fucking lemonade.

Grabbing Becket's elbow, he sidestepped around the silly sods just standing about like cattle in chutes. The bloke protested -- "There's a line, man!" -- but Chuck ignored him. It was second nature by now, anyway, and he had work to do.

Just as he rounded the front of the queue, one of the glorified paperweights finished and readied for the next poor schmuck in line. Chuck shouldered past said poor schmuck and, dragging an apologizing Becket up to the counter with him, fixed his best smile on his face. He'd been told it was charming, but only by people who didn't know him.

"Sorry, mate -- just got a quick question for you."

The government drone, who really needed a haircut and a shave to hide the patchy nature of both shag and beard, gave him an unimpressed look.

Still smiling enough to tap into his dimple's secret power, he offered the bloke a manila folder. "Can you file this application for me? We'll be right out of your hair."

It wasn't a lie. He'd had Becket print the forms off the internet so they could both fill them out before coming in. A time-saver all around.

Sighing, the drone flipped open the folder, caught sight of the names, and pursed his lips. "Señor Hansen."

Great. This guy sounded like he'd just jumped the Mexican border. Chuck's eyes dropped to the nametag. Santiago. Figured.

His immigration paperwork was being processed by an immigrant. God bless America.

But he needed lenience, so he kept smiling. "That's me."

Flipping the file closed, the drone gave him an odd look over his glasses and gestured. "You come with me."

It wasn't a question, so Chuck didn't bother answering, just followed as the drone walked off. Becket, twitchy at his back, followed along. Because of course he did.

The drone paused outside a glass door and smiled. "You want Chau. Good luck."

The accent was so thick Chuck couldn't tell if it was a name or a little Mexican drop-in, so he just shrugged and walked into the room, then cursed as Becket had to squeeze by him to get to the other chair. The office was cramped already, but the overfilled boxes of bullshit paperwork packed into every available space made it absolutely claustrophobic.

Edgy and unable to sit down because of it, he watched as Becket perched on the edge of a chair, his messenger bag in his lap. Poor bloke looked ready to bolt.

"I have a bad feeling about this."

Rolling his eyes, he pulled out his phone and checked his emails. Shit. He'd already missed six emails and eleven calls. This was a goddamn waste of time. If they could print the forms online, why the hell couldn't they submit them that way?

Movement caught his eye, and he looked up to see a tall, broad shape headed their way. Suddenly, it occurred to him that Becket had never called him anything but Mr. Hansen. That would never pass.

"Oi," he whispered, quickly putting away his phone and straightening his tie. "Call me Chuck, yeah?"

Becket blinked. "...Why?"

He didn't have time to explain. A great bloody bear of a bloke strode through the door, almost smacking it into Chuck as he entered, then paused to look them over. Chuck, eyes wide, couldn't help but do the same. This wasn't what he expected of a government paperwork processor.

If the swank crimson velvet suit wasn't odd enough, the smoked goggles, gold-capped teeth, and honest to God gold-tipped shoes sure as hell were. Who the bloody fuck _was_ this wanker?

Smiling broadly and exposing that ludicrously expensive grill, the bloke offered an oversized paw for a shake. More intimidated than he'd like to admit, Chuck offered his own in return, half-expecting it to be crushed.

"Hannibal Chau. Please, sit down."

He didn't question it. He sat.

"Sorry for the wait, folks. Been a busy day."

At the apology, he felt some of himself come back and squared his shoulders. "Oi, we understand, yeah? Thanks for seeing us on such short notice, Mr. Chau."

This widebody did not look Asian. At all.

Gold teeth appeared again. "Just Chau."

He nodded. Becket might as well have been a statue.

"So, let's get right to it, shall we? Are you two here in an attempt to defraud these great United States by claiming to be engaged, just so Mr. Hansen here doesn't get deported to Australia and lose his job with Shattered Dome Publishing?"

Unforgivably caught off guard, Chuck sputtered.

Thank every god that ever was, but Becket picked that moment to nut up and roll his half-day-long stupor. "That's ridiculous, sir."

Chau's focus shifted to him like a tracking laser. "Is that so?"

Big, meaty fingers pawed through the drift of papers on his desk, finally producing a post-it with unreadable scribbles all over it. Chuck was more concerned about the tattoos on the back of that enormous hand than the post-it itself. They looked... street.

"Because I received an anonymous tip this morning from a Dr. New--"

"Newt Geiszler." Chuck felt a flare of real anger spark to life in his stomach. Becket shot him a tense look, but he ignored it.

Chau didn't blink, as far as Chuck could tell, but held up the note. "Newt Geiszler. You know him?"

He snorted. "Geiszler is a wanker. He's just twisted 'cause I gave him notice this morning. This is his revenge."

After pawing around for a pen, Chau made an illegible note alongside all the other chickenscratch. "Interesting. So you're not here because your visa application was denied and you're about to be deported?"

Reminding himself that his future was at stake here, Chuck straightened and got himself back under control. "Frankly, Chau, that's insulting." He forced himself to reach out and snatch Becket's hand, threading their fingers together. "You think two big blokes like us can't be in love? What, one of us has to be the sheila? Be the girlie one, like on tellie?"

Becket's hand spasmed, but the poor bastard didn't let go. Thank God.

Chau sat back in his chair, seemingly amused. "I can assure you that gay profiling isn't the motive here, Mr. Hansen."

"Bloody well better not be."

"Mr. Chau." Becket suddenly sat forward. Shit. "If I may?"

Oddly enough, Chau didn't bother correcting him. "Go right ahead, son."

_Please come through, please come through, please let this be like the time I got flu and you plowed through del Toro's two hundred pages of self-inflicted last minute rewrites and turned everything in for me with three hours to spare on the deadline--_

"Sir, Chuck and I--"

_Oh, thank you, Raleigh Fucking Becket, you're getting a bloody huge raise out of this and I don't even care who I have to murder to make it happen._

"--are just two guys who realized we didn't have to have anything in common to fall in love. Newt never understood that. Honestly, I think he's jealous more than anything else."

He couldn't help himself. He fucking beamed at his assistant, giving his hand a squeeze. Becket grinned back, easy-going as ever, but there was something hard in those usually puppy-soft eyes.

"Uh-huh." Chau sounded amused. "So, I take it everyone at the office is aware of your star-crossed love?"

He opened his mouth, but Becket beat him to it.

"Not everyone, no." Another little squeeze. "We didn't dare tell. We thought it'd look really sketchy, what with my promotion coming up."

_...Oh, no, you fucking didn't._

His smile froze on his face. Becket's expression didn't change an iota. This fucker wasn't a puppy. Raleigh Fucking Becket was a junkyard dog, and Chuck had just jumped over his fucking fence.

He was backed up in a goddamn corner, and Becket knew it.

"See, I'll be bumped up to full editor in a few months, so we thought it best to announce it _after_ that so no one would think anything was fishy." The cold-blooded bastard shrugged casually. "Newt just... found out. We were afraid he'd retaliate somehow, but I didn't suspect anything like this." Shaking his head, he gave Chuck an unfathomable look. "Trying to get my poor Chuck deported."

His jaw tight enough to chew bricks, he stared at his bullshit fiancé and vowed retribution with his eyes. "He could never separate us, love."

_Because I will hunt you down and murder you with a grapefruit spoon if you try to hide, you sneaky fuck._

Becket smiled.

Chau sighed. "Right. Then have you told your families about your big love affair?"

Tearing away from his growing fury, Chuck returned his attention to the main opponent. "Impossible. My mum died when I was ten, and I've not spoken a civil word to my old man in damn near that long."

"No siblings?"

"Not unless you count the family dog." Which Chuck totally did. Max had been a furry, loyal, loving brother to him all those years. Poor bastard was probably ready for his warrior rest by now. Had probably already kicked on, actually.

But he didn't like to think about that.

Chau smiled humorlessly. "And you, Mr. Becket?"

"Raleigh, please."

"Your family dead to you, too?"

 _A+ word choice there, Chau._ But Chuck couldn't really fault the bastard. That's basically how he'd put it. And... well... it was true enough.

"Ray's family?" He deliberately ignored the slight narrowing of hard blue eyes. "Nah, mate. They're all alive and kicking. In fact, his grandmum's ninetieth birthday is this weekend. We were planning to head that way tomorrow and pop the news then. Give the ol' girl a bit of a thrill on her big day."

Chau raised an eyebrow. "And where is this happy little shindig taking place?"

Ignoring the increasing pressure on his hand, Chuck grinned. "At Ray's family's place, of course."

"Which is where, again?"

He blanked. He hadn't overheard that part of the conversation. Though, now that he thought of it, it was a bit odd he'd never heard Becket talking about where he was from in the three years the bloke had been his assistant.

"Oi, Ray, quit making me do all the work, yeah?" He faked a fond grin. "You're still my assistant for a few months yet."

For a second, he thought the bastard wouldn't answer. Would just sit there and pooch the whole deal out of spite. Before today, Chuck would have never considered Becket capable of spite, but this fucked up day had been just full of surprises.

In fact, Chuck was just about surprised out.

Then, Becket smiled coldly. "Sitka."

Chuck smiled.

"Alaska."

His smile froze. No pun intended. Becket was from the fucking frozen wastes? Why the bloody fuck hadn't he known this before now?

Chau sat forward with a grunt. "Look, if you two continue this... thing you've concocted, it's gonna blow up in your faces. This isn't just a surface investigation, here. I'm gonna call your friends and family. I'm gonna check your phone records."

Not a problem. He'd been dragging Becket out and about at all hours to do his bidding for three years now. Their phone records would back them up, at least. Did Becket have friends, though? Chuck sure as hell didn't.

"Then, I'll sit you two in separate rooms and grill you like a couple of porterhouse steaks. And if your answers don't match up, you, Hansen, will be deported back to Australia indefinitely and you, Becket, will face a five-year prison sentence for fraud and a $250,000 fine." It felt like two eyes speared through those smoked lenses and directly into Chuck's soul. "So...." The intent stare shifted. "Becket? Anything to say?"

For the first time since that terrible moment in Gottlieb's office, Chuck felt actual panic. There wasn't a chance in hell Becket would risk prison and a quarter-million dollar fine for a shot at editor, and Chuck had nothing else to offer. And had been cornered into offering that.

But for whatever reason, Becket hid his expression and met Chau's eyes straight on. "I've said everything I need to say."

It took all his willpower to keep his breath from whooshing out of him. He was miserably aware that his hand had gone clammy and cold in Becket's, but the bloke made no move to shake him off.

Their ship might go down in flames, but they were by God gonna ride it all the way down.

Sighing again, Chau sat back. "Fine. I see how this is gonna go." He scribbled another note, this time on a new post-it, which he unstuck and handed across the table. "Do your whole Alaska thing, then meet me first thing Monday morning for the first interview."

Becket took the offered note but didn't bother looking at it. Chau stood, and Chuck scrambled to his feet, as well. He wasn't used to someone being taller than him, and he couldn't help but go right back to feeling intimidated as Chau loomed over him.

"Gotta say, kids -- I'm kinda lookin' forward to this one. I'll be keepin' an eye on you two lovebirds."

So many gold teeth. They looked like they could bite through bone, even though gold was supposed to be a soft metal.

And before he quite knew how it happened, Chau hustled them out of his office and shut the door behind them. Becket started forward, and just like that, the spell was lifted.

Chuck whipped out his phone, his business sense taking over as he strode ahead of his bullshit fiancé and headed for the exit.

"Right then." He tapped to his calendar and cursed at the amount of notes for the weekend. "Clear the schedule for this weekend and get us a flight for tomorrow around lunch. Might as well get there a day early and sleep off the jet lag. I'll spring for first class, but you damn well better redeem my points, or you're paying the difference yourself, mate. And remind those bastards _no green peppers_ , thanks. Last time, my salad was fucking crawling with them, and I couldn't even stand the smell of it. And don't forget to reschedule that meeting Monday morn--"

He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk when he realized Becket wasn't his usual one step behind and to the left of him. Where the...?

Frowning, he turned to look, and Becket was a good ten feet behind, his messenger bag dangling from his hand and almost dragging the sidewalk, his expression... lost.

"Oi, why aren't you taking notes?"

Becket _always_ took notes when Chuck was on a roll. And from his keen -- if borderline asshole -- negotiations in there, Chuck had assumed the bloke was finally all-in.

Blinking slowly, as if he'd just dragged out of bed, Becket gave him that wide-eyed puppy look. "Did you not hear a word that was said in there?"

Now, it was Chuck's turn to blink. He'd really, really hoped most of the... negotiations... would just never come up again.

_Play it cool, dumbass._

"What? Oi, the editor thing?" _Dammit!_ A frisson of unease crawled through him. He'd hoped that if he just ignored that part, it would go away. Maybe if he-- "Yeah, genius idea, mate. Threw him right off. He'll never suspect."

_Nailed it._

"Two hundred fifty thousand dollars and _prison time_. Chuck. That changes things."

The frisson of unease turned into a cold tentacle up his spine. "You, an editor? Sure, mate. Keep telling yourself that."

_Don't do it, Becket. You're my assistant, and that's the way it is. Don't upset the status quo. I... I can't take any more changes. Not today. Not like this._

"Fine." Becket dropped his pack. "Then I go back inside and tell Chau the truth, and you're screwed. Nice knowin' ya, Chuck."

And the fucker actually turned to walk back inside.

"Ray! Oi, hold up!"

"My name is _Raleigh_. It's really not that hard to say." Becket kept walking.

Seriously concerned now, Chuck bent down and snagged the messenger bag as he all but jogged after the bastard. "It is with my accent, yeah? C'mon, Raaaleigh, just stop and--"

Finally, the bastard stopped, fists clenched and shoulders square.

"Sorry, just... Raleigh." God, it almost hurt his mouth to say. "Don't do this to me, mate. I can't go back to Australia, yeah?"

_Don't ask why. I can't tell you. Won't._

Without turning around, the cunning wanker laid out his terms. "You promote me to editor and publish that manuscript."

His jaw clenched. He did not like being manipulated. "Oi, who do you think you're--"

"Editor, and not in three years, when this is over. Now."

His mind churned, trying to figure a way out of this mess. Fucking Geiszler. Fucker'd better not show his weaselly little face anywhere near Chuck for the next ten years.

He was out of options.

"Fine. Done. Whatever."

God, now he had to find another goddamn assistant, train them up to where he needed them to be, get everything back into the routine--

"And the manuscript?"

He knew why, of course. If a manuscript Becket chose and championed sold well....

"Ten thousand copies."

" _Twenty_ thousand copies, first run." Said as if the fucker knew it'd sell out twenty thousand and need another.

But Chuck's balls were _this close_ to the bandsaw, and he had absolutely no choice. Swallowing down an acidy feeling of impotence unlike anything he'd felt in recent memory, he gave in. With bad grace.

"You do the Alaska thing and the interview on Monday, and Shattered publishes the goddamn book. Square?"

He even offered his hand, though he wasn't sure he wouldn't crush the manipulative bastard's fingers, just out of petty revenge.

"Almost." Becket turned around, stuffed his hands in his trousers' pockets, and smirked. "You have to ask me."

He blinked. "Ask... what...?"

"Ask me to marry you."

He could help it. He spluttered, almost offended by the suggestion.

"C'mon. I'm waiting."

His dignity cringing, he gritted his teeth and clenched his hands into fists. "Will you marry me."

Becket raised one eyebrow. "Really, Hansen? That the best you got?" Fucker actually shook his head.

"The fuck do you want from me, Becket?" _He_ wanted to punch that smile right off the stubborn bastard's stupid face.

"I want you to ask me nicely. Like you mean it."

Before consulting with his brain, his mouth shot off. "But I _don't_ mean it, ya wanker."

Undaunted, Becket kept smiling. "Then what are we doing here?"

_Goddammit all to fucking hell. This cannot be happening._

Swallowing every last bitter dreg of his pride, he opened his mouth.

"On one knee."

Jesus Christ. "This is a five thousand dollar suit."

"Aw, you didn't have to dress up just for me, honey."

Apparently, there was one last, lonely drop of pride left, because Chuck had to swallow it, too, as he lowered himself to one knee on the busy sidewalk and stuck out his hand, a demand rather than a plea. Becket, eyes alight with malicious glee, took it.

"Dearest Raleigh." He even forced himself to say that goddamn stupid name correctly. "Such stuff as dreams are made on, wilt thou marry me?"

Pretending to consider, Becket tilted his head and looked up at the sky. "Hmm. Not sure about the Shakespeare, but okay. Also, I tell my family about the engagement how and when I choose. See you tomorrow, pumpkin."

Just like that, the bloody Yank snatched his hand away and strode off, leaving Chuck on his fucking knee in the middle of the sidewalk. Boggled by just how badly askew this entire nightmare day had gone, he knelt there a while longer, then pushed wearily to his feet. He brushed at his trousers, then realized the concrete had snagged a thread and pulled a tiny tear, right across the knee.

"Fucking bollocks."

Fuck this life.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and several others contain French phrases. If you hover over the French words, the English translation will appear.
> 
> _UPDATE: Since some mobile users are having trouble with the hovertext, I'm also adding superscripts in text and translations in the notes at the end._
> 
> That said, I don't actually speak French, and the only time I intentionally butchered it is in Chapter 24, so if you see something glaringly wrong in translation, PLEASE TELL ME!

Raleigh approached his cell phone with a dread more appropriate to the electric chair. He'd been home for three hours, tidying up, packing, throwing out anything in the fridge that might go bad over the long weekend, making arrangements for the crazy cat lady next door to water his plants at least once while he was gone.

Stalling. That's what he was doing.

Once he made this phone call, it was done. He couldn't take it back. Technically, he'd struck a bargain with Mr. Hansen -- with _Chuck_ , Lovecraft preserve us -- but as long as his family didn't know, he wasn't completely, inescapably locked in.

Of course, he wasn't one to welch on a deal, so he forced himself to sit down on the couch, pick up the phone, and scroll to his mother's number. Actually push the button. Wait for it to ring.

All while his instincts clamored that this was his last chance to bail, and he'd better hang up now before it was too la--

"Bonjour. Becket residence."

\--late. Far too late.

"Maman."¹

His mother's voice brightened, just like it always did when he called. "Raleigh, mon garçon chéri! Si merveilleux d'entendre votre voix si tôt!"²

He smiled, tempted to continue on in French but too flustered to manage it. He'd likely just switch back and forth between the two until he was unintelligible.

"Good news." He tried to make his voice sound excited. "The boss changed his mind. Turns out, I _can_ come to  Mamie's birthday party this weekend."

She squealed, and Raleigh felt the old pain, knowing that he should go home more often but just... unable to. The job, yes, but... sometimes, the job was just a handy excuse.

"But that is the best thing you could say!" Even when she didn't speak her native tongue, Dominique LaPierre-Becket had a charmingly thick French accent. "Mamie will be so pleased!"

He swallowed. It was time to fish or cut bait. Long past time. Closing his eyes, he kept his tone as light and excited as he could. "And I'll be bringing someone along, if that's all right?"

Another squeal, and guilt wormed into him because this... was not what his lovely mother wanted. Unfortunately, what she wanted most, he simply couldn't give her. Grandchildren were only the start of his failings to his maman.

"Oh, Raleigh, I am so thrilled for you! I have so wanted for you to be happy! Who is the lucky dame ami?"³

Oooookay. No way to break the news but right down the middle. "Uh... copain⁴, actually."

Silence.

"In fact, it's... my boss. Char-- Chuck Hansen." He really, really needed to keep calling him that, even in his own head. "It's why he changed his mind."

The silence dragged out. He felt like such an asshole, springing this on her out of nowhere. It wasn't like he'd ever brought home a man before. And this particular man... well. Waves were about to be created. Tsunami waves. Rise of Cthulhu waves.

"Maman?"

_Please love me anyway, Maman, because I can't do without you and I don't even know what I'm doing._

"Pardon, pardon, mon fils."⁵

Relief surged through him, though he understood that this was just the beginning.

"I only... needed a moment. You... never said...?"

Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to mix in a few lies with the truth, hoping it would be enough.

"I didn't really know. I mean, I guess I messed around in college a little, but it... wasn't really my thing." That much was true. A little drunken making out when some girl at a party wanted to see if he'd participate in a threesome had resulted in no interest at all. "Until now. Until... Chuck." _That_ was a lie. A big, fat, juicy one. "Guess I just didn't know what I was looking for."

"We... Raleigh, we are still speaking of your so-charming employer, yes?" She was sweet, his mother, but she could also be as sharp as peppercorns. "Who you once referred to as la merde du Diable raclé sa chaussure?"⁶

Okay, so he'd done his fair share of ranting. Three years with a raving egomaniac would do that to a saint. He'd swear on that as he marched boldly into the hereafter.

He coughed out a chuckle. "Well, that was before we--" He cut himself off, both ashamed and mortified that he was now implying he'd had sex with his boss.

Who he was supposed to legally marry. Holy Roddenberry, would they have to...? It was just a sham marriage, right? It's not like... could they test for that? _Would_ they?

Panic closed his throat, and he forced his mind away from the concept entirely. "Sorry, Maman. I just... yeah, he infuriates me sometimes, but... that kind of attraction seems to run in the family, doesn't it?"

It was perilously close to a low blow. And his mother knew it, though she likely wouldn't blame him for it.

Sure enough: "Your father... tries my patience, yes." She gasped. "Ton père!⁷ Ah, non, what will he say?"

His jaw clenched. "I don't care about his opinion. He's made himself plenty clear on what he thinks of me." Softening, he ran a hand through his hair. "I do care about yours, though, Maman. Yours and Mamie's."

Though he knew without doubt that he could announce he was marrying a three-legged, blind horse, and his grand-mère would compliment him on his excellent taste in withers. He had always been her favorite. Probably a good thing, in retrospect.

"Ah, mon garçon chéri, I have only ever wanted you to be happy. If your Chuck makes you happy, then he is most welcome here."

He was pretty sure Chuck couldn't make a goldfish happy with a gold-plated sunken castle, but that was neither here nor there. His mother was on his side. Mamie would, of course, be there, too. With both of them at his back, he could stare down his father yet again and maybe come out of this thing without burning down the house.

At least, not on purpose.

Grinning a little, he nodded even though she couldn't see. "I think he does, Maman. Thank you for letting me bring him and... for not... reacting badly." If he had ever forgotten how lucky he was to have such a loving, accepting mother and grandmother, he had just been forcibly reminded. "I just... I wanted it to be a surprise, but not _that_ big a surprise, ya know?"

"Of course, chéri. I will... have a word with Richard. Prepare him."

"Merci, Mère."⁸

"Je t'aime, mon fils."⁹

"Et toi."¹⁰

He hung up and put his head in his hands, feeling like a wrung-out dishrag. From the first second, this day had started wrong and had only gone worse. And now, he was marrying Chuck Hansen.

Was Chuck even into guys? It wasn't something that had come up between them, though Raleigh knew basically every other pertinent detail of the big jerk's life. The better to make it flow seemlessly without any irritations.

At any rate, he supposed his boss's sexual preference currently mattered even less than Raleigh's, since this was just an on-paper marriage and would only last as long as it absolutely had to. They might have to hold hands in public and would probably have to stick close to each other. Maybe kiss at least once for the....

Great Ridley Scott. The ceremony. Did they have to do a big public thing? Would he have to invite his family? How many of them? Would... would Chuck invite his?

Suddenly, his mind flashed on the fact that Chuck's father was still alive. His boss never spoke of his family. The editor in chief was far more focused on not having to wait for anything _ever_ and always having more than enough office supplies because if anything messed up his system, only the Old Ones could possibly help whoever was within shouting distance.

But today, Chuck had just blurted that little factoid like it meant nothing to him. His mother dead when he was ten. His father... estranged?

Well, at least that was something they had in common, though it sounded like Chuck had gone to his usual extreme. Instead of just talking stiltedly when forced to, the Aussie jerk had apparently stopped talking to the man altogether.

Or maybe it was the other way around. Raleigh had no real idea.

And it really didn't matter. This was a business deal. He'd just have to think about it in those terms. Sure, he might have to do a few things he didn't really like, but that was the same with any job out there. What were a few quick pecks on the cheek compared to making editor and getting the gem of a manuscript published like it deserved?

It all sounded good in his mind. Odd, then, that he still felt a doom cloud hovering over his head as he packed three extra pairs of socks and four extra pairs of boxer briefs.

He was dismally sure that if he could see that cloud, it would look like a scowling Chuck Hansen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¹ - Mom.  
> ² - My darling boy! So wonderful to hear your voice again so soon!  
> ³ - lady friend  
> ⁴ - boyfriend  
> ⁵ - Sorry, sorry, my son.  
> ⁶ - the shit the Devil scraped off his shoe  
> ⁷ - Your father!  
> ⁸ - Thank you, Mother.  
> ⁹ - I love you, my son.  
> ¹⁰ - And you.


	9. Chapter 9

Chuck could admit he was a bit obsessive. He liked things a certain way. He liked his routine. He did not like surprises.

He wasn't a control freak, though he knew everyone called him one. He just knew that with order came peace. When everything went the way it was supposed to, he had nothing to worry about. Everything was as it should be. It was calming to always know what would happen next.

Unfortunately, all of that order had shat the bed today, and now his life was barely recognizable as his own. As he lay in the middle of his big, firm bed and stared up at the ceiling, he consciously allowed himself to hate it. To hate all of these changes.

Oddly enough, the one that distressed him the most -- though he wouldn't admit it on pain of hot coals or splinters under the fingernails -- was the imminent loss of Becket as his assistant. For all the shit he gave the bloke, Raleigh _understood_.

He understood that Chuck needed things to go as expected. Ensured that they did so. And whilst Chuck didn't doubt he'd been the subject of a great many rants to Becket's family in fucking Alaska, he appreciated that Raleigh had never once belittled him to his face or in the office for demanding that structure. For needing it to keep the publishing machine churning.

Someone new wouldn't understand. Someone new would cowtow to his face and laugh with the other wage slaves about his obsessive tendencies behind his back. Or refuse to deal with any of it and quit, leaving him in the same fix all over again.

As far as Chuck knew, Becket never socialized with the mindless drones in the office, except perhaps for Elvis. Thus, it was highly unlikely that Raleigh was laughing his ass off at the water cooler about Chuck's rule on ordering the entire week's lunches from a single shop at the beginning of the week with the daily delivery time scheduled in advance. That way, he didn't have to worry about the headache he got when he went too long without eating.

Becket was no one's fool. One such headache and the resulting foul mood was more than enough to convince the bloke that tipping extra to ensure delivery promptness was wise, as was double- or even triple-checking the order and delivery times Monday morning.

Would a new assistant do that without being explicitly told to? Without requiring an explanation for it? Without constant reminders? Or would the learning curve be too steep, as it had been before Becket was hired, thus ending a streak in which Chuck hadn't kept an assistant for longer than three months in the prior four years?

Becket had stayed. Becket had adapted. Becket was... indispensible.

_Dammit._

Grumbling, he turned to his side and irritably punched his pillow into shape. Maybe Becket would keep doing some of those things for him, even after he made editor. They'd be married for three years, after all, and whilst the amount of time spent together at work would likely lessen, their time outside of work certainly wouldn't. Becket surely wouldn't want Chuck any crankier than he was already likely to be with his entire schedule uprooted.

His eyes widened, and he sat up in bed. He... hadn't thought about that. About... not-work. Would... Jesus, would they have to move in together? With Chau being so insistent that the whole thing was a sham, it seemed logical. No, inescapable.

Bloody hell. Someone in his space would be infinite amounts of worse than a new assistant at work.

Or... would Becket even consent to move here? What if the bastard insisted that Chuck had to move to whatever flea-infested rathole he crawled out of every morning?

Okay, harsh. To his credit, Becket never looked shabby, aside from the stubble this morning. If the bloke lived in a shithole, it would likely show in his clothes and grooming. So, maybe it wouldn't be so bad as all that.

But... Chuck loved his flat. It was spacious and uncluttered and efficient. And expensive as fuck, though he'd paid it off the year before and could comfortably sit back and watch his property value soar. Becket seemed like the type to like... things. Casual clutter.

Chuck had nothing concrete on which to base that assumption, as Raleigh's desk was always sorted and tidy with only a single picture of the ocean ticky-tacked on the cubicle wall to the right of his computer monitor. Just... somehow, the bloke seemed the type to put sentimental value in bric-a-brac like pictures and mementos from old vacations. Dust-catchers, Chuck's mum had always called them, smiling as she ran the duster over the untidy tangle of picture frames on the entryway credenza.

Sighing, he forced himself to lay back down and try to get comfortable. Whether or not Becket would move in wasn't something he had any control over right now. He may not have learned much from his old man, but he _had_ learned that he had to focus on the things he could control, which made the things he couldn't control easier to deal with.

Becket understood that.

Chuck could only hope the bloke kept it close to his heart for the next three years.


	10. THURSDAY

Two hours' sleep. Raleigh couldn't be expected to be on his best behavior with only two hours' sleep. As if the stares and whispers at the office all morning weren't bad enough, he now had to spend seven hours trapped in an airplane with Chuck Hansen, the asshole that walked like a man.

At least they weren't stuck in coach. He did not want to sit next to a Chuck Hansen who'd just been elbowed by a random stranger.

"Hand me that booklet, yeah?"

He didn't have to ask which one. He'd picked up the "questions to expect when applying for a marital green card" booklet from Hansen's immigration attorney before work that morning. Also before grudgingly telling the lovely and life-saving Jillian S that he was already dating, sorry, but he appreciated her interest. If nothing else, if that crazy Chau guy got a little nuts with the background checks, he'd find one barista willing to say Raleigh had been in a relationship for an unspecified length of time.

Not looking at his so-called fiancé, he pulled the oversized binder out of his messenger bag and handed it over. Hansen -- his brain still defaulted to the safer appellation -- flipped through it, pausing on random pages. To the average joe, it would seem Chuck's attention was elsewhere. Raleigh, though, knew that his boss-turned-boyfriend was actually speedreading and absorbing far more information than should be humanly possible.

"This is a load of shite."

He rolled his eyes. "These are things a real couple should know about each other." Sighing, he slumped back in his seat and hoped he could catch a nap during the flight. "I was actually appalled to see how much of that stuff I know about you."

Chuck snorted. "You know which side of the bed I sleep on?"

This conversation didn't sound conducive to a nap, but Raleigh closed his eyes anyway. "I take you as a middle of the bed kind of guy. The bed is yours. You just allow someone in it."

Silence, which meant he was right. He couldn't help but smirk.

"All right then, smartass. What am I allergic to?"

"Codeine, sulfa drugs, and every single one of the finer emotions."

"You're fucking adorable." Chuck flipped a few pages. "Do I have any identifiable marks?"

"A tattoo."

Was it just him, or did his boss stiffen? For a second, he wished he'd had his eyes open. Then, he remembered he was too tired to care about any of this.

"What makes you think I have a tattoo?"

If his eyes weren't already closed, he'd be rolling them. "About a year ago, I went into your office while you were in a meeting, and you were still logged into your computer. I went to log you out and noticed a Google page of search results for tat--"

Chuck talked right over him. "Tattoo removal, yeah, yeah. Nosy bastard."

"Hey, I didn't look around. I just logged you off."

"Whatever." Another few pages flipped. "Here's an easy one: where do we live? My place. Definitely."

He opened his eyes and frowned at the cabin ceiling. "Why don't we live at mine?"

"Because you probably live in some one-room flat in the Bronx, and I own a million dollar apartment in Manhattan."

Oh, he wanted to point out that his converted warehouse apartment was also in Manhattan and wasn't exactly cheap, but he had no intention of explaining how he could afford the place with his assistant slave wages. Chuck Hansen might be his fiancé, but the jerk hadn't earned his backstory yet. And probably wasn't interested in it, anyway.

Fidgety and wishing his irritating boss would just let him sleep, Raleigh dug a butterscotch out of his messenger bag. His mother would shake her head if she knew he still had a stress-induced sweet tooth, but Raleigh was taking no chances this weekend. He had to keep his shit together, and if it took a family-sized bag of mixed hard candies to get him through it without murdering either his new boyfriend or his father, so be it.

"Got any mints in there?"

Sighing, he dug around, rattling the plastic of the bag and probably annoying the hell out of the other first class passengers, but he eventually found a peppermint and passed it over.

"You always had a sweet tooth, then?"

He wanted to ignore any attempt at chitchat, but they needed to know this stuff about each other. Little details might save their asses if they messed up on the big questions. So, he answered.

"Would you believe my sweet tooth fluctuates, depending on what kind of day you're having?"

It took a minute, but eventually, Chuck snorted. "You're a shit. You know that?" Without waiting for an answer, the jerk shoved the booklet at him and leaned back in his window seat, completely ignoring the view. "I would've never guessed, Becket. It's a bit of a thrill to experience you like this."

He smirked, closing his eyes again and ignoring the booklet placed precariously in his lap. "Sarcasm is your color, pumpkin. You should wear it more often."

"I think I prefer you with a filter."

"Then you shouldn't have asked me to marry you."

"Aww!"

They both sat up straighter, equally appalled to be caught sniping at each other. Raleigh shot Chuck a blushing, apologetic glance, only to find his boss giving him a very similar look. The flight attendant, however, just beamed at them.

"You guys are so cute. Can I get you anything now that we're at cruising altitude?"

Raleigh watched as the usual business cool neatly covered the hint of embarrassment on Chuck's face. "Well, we just got engaged yesterday, so it seems champagne would be in order, yeah?"

The attendant very nearly squealed, clasping her hands together. "Oh, congratulations! Champagne is definitely in order. On the house, just for you two."

She hopped to it, and Raleigh couldn't help himself. He shot his boss a disapproving look. Chuck, of course, was unimpressed.

"Oi, don't gimme that look, Becket. Might as well get something out of this shitshow, even if it's just some cheap airline champagne."

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, so not being deported isn't good enough for you now? Gettin' greedy, Hansen."

"Never would've pegged you as a party pooper, Becket. I'm disappointed."

Snorting, he leaned back again, though he didn't bother closing his eyes. If nothing else, maybe a glass of champagne would help knock him out for a few hours. "It can't be the first time, and it won't be the last, I'm sure."

"When you're right, you're right."

The attendant came back with a bottle of bona fide Dom Pérignon sunk in a bucket of ice on a small stand, and Raleigh forgot his intended retort in his surprise. That wasn't cheap airline booze.

Chuck, of course, only looked the bottle over approvingly and took the offered flute. "Cheers, love."

He wanted to roll his eyes, but they had an audience, so he merely took his own flute and tinked it gently against Chuck's. "Back atcha, babe."

Raleigh didn't mistake that for an affectionate look. "Babe" was apparently out. Shrugging without apologizing, he sipped at his champagne and hummed approvingly. Definitely the good stuff.

"Thank you--" Without making it obvious, he glanced at her nametag. "--Ellen. This is very kind of you."

Smiling, she tipped a little curtsy. "Help yourselves, boys. The bottle is yours with our compliments." With that, she went about smiling at the other passengers, offering comforts and beverages.

"Not so disapproving when it's Dom Pérignon, eh?"

Rolling his eyes, he moved the little stand over between their knees, blessing first class for having actual leg room. The last thing he wanted was his impatient boss nudging him every time he wanted a refill.

"Dun bun can't be undone, my mamie always says."

"Right, about that." Chuck leaned back, getting comfortable. "Is that your grandmum's name, or what?"

Great. They were talking. All he wanted was a catnap, but they were talking.

"Mamie is French for... uh... granny, I guess, or grandma. If you're curious, her name is actually Marguerite LaPierre." That bordered on uncomfortable territory, so he kept it short. "My father calls her Maggie, but I've always just called her Mamie, so my mother calls her that, too."

"What, are you French or something?"

He needed more Dom for this. This sip was a borderline gulp. "Yeah, on my mom's side."

Chuck's eyes widened. "And you speak French?"

Nodding, he took another big drink. "I actually learned French before I learned English. Maman didn't even think about it, but Dad had a fit when he realized his kids were learning a foreign language first."

He froze, all too aware of what he'd just said. He could only hope Chuck didn't catch it. Or didn't care enough to ask.

"Maman?"

"French for Mom."

"Jesus. You gonna speak French all weekend?"

The idea had its merits, but Raleigh was too busy willing the conversation away from his slip-up to really think it through. "I'll probably slip in and out. If I do it while talking to you, just give me -- yeah. That look. That exact one."

Because Chuck was looking at him with sheer annoyance, as if being bilingual was a crime. This from a foreign national about to be deported.

"You're not gonna make me learn, are you?"

His eyebrows rose. That wasn't the question he'd been expecting. "Would you?"

He could almost feel sorry for the jerk when he looked so miserable. "Only if I absolutely have to. I mean, you speak English like a native, so I don't see why I would."

He smirked. "I _am_ a native, jackass. You're the immigrant, here."

Chuck's eyes narrowed, but he clearly didn't have a retort. Suddenly feeling better, Raleigh poured himself another glass of champagne.

Maybe this flight wouldn't be so bad, after all.


	11. Chapter 11

Chuck Hansen had been so sure the flight from New York City to Juneau, Alaska, was the worst flight ever. He was sadly disappointed to realize the puddle-jumper flight from Juneau to Sitka was worse.

Turbulence, the pilot said. Over his shoulder, because the plane didn't have an intercom. Because the pilot could just turn his head and be heard by the entire cabin.

Jouncing through the air at roughly the speed of gridlock traffic, Chuck clutched the back of the seat in front of him because there was no such thing as armrests between Juneau and Sitka. Becket, of course, seemed unbothered. In fact, Becket seemed almost asleep with his eyes open.

There _were_ dark circles under those baby blues, though. Maybe the bloke had spent as rough a night as Chuck had. Part of him wanted to say that was only fair, that he shouldn't be the only one suffering. The rest actually felt a little sorry for the poor sod.

A very little. And only because he was exhausted from this Flight of Doom, so his defenses were down.

Thank God, but they finally landed -- not at a terminal, of course, because that would imply Sitka had an actual airport with terminals and Starbucks and overpriced bookstores. What Sitka _did_ have were a few stretches of tarmac, a low-slung building he supposed might count as more than just an office, and a pitiful little tower that jutted up like a stubby thumb to look over the runways.

He shouldered the strap of his carry-on, not looking forward to collecting his luggage. It was only a suitcase, a rolling duffel, and a garment bag, but compared to Becket's messenger bag carry-on and single square duffel, he felt a bit... high maintenance. He wasn't, really.

All right, he was. But he hadn't known what to bring, so he'd brought a bit of everything. Maybe he should've swallowed his pride and asked what sort of events they'd be in for and what level of well-dressed was expected of him, but he hadn't thought of it until he was actually packing, at which point he was too stressed to ring Becket up and ask.

When they tottered down the tiny, fold-out steps and onto the tarmac, he turned to gather up his luggage, only to realize Becket had abandoned him. The inconsiderate bastard was already halfway to the small gathered crowd just at the edge of the landing field.

Great. He got the suitcase in one hand, threw the garment bag over the opposite shoulder, and reached for the rolling duffel, only to curse as the garment bag slipped. Grumbling, he changed tactics and hung the garment bag's hook over the handle of the rolly bag, then very carefully headed after Becket's retreating figure.

In a way, it was a good thing the bloke was so bloody big. Made him easy to spot in a crowd.

By the time he reached the little huddle, Becket was engulfed in a dual hug by an elegant, willowy blonde woman easing into a graceful middle age and a tiny, fragile bird of a woman with dark curls and sharp black eyes that measured Chuck as he rolled to a halt, trying not to pant with exertion.

The fucking suitcase was heavy.

"This is your copain, petit-fils?"¹

Pulling away just enough to smile at the little spitfire, Raleigh grinned. "Oui, Mamie." Putting one arm around the little bird woman -- who couldn't possibly be old enough to be a grandmother -- and the other arm around the willowy blonde, Raleigh looked him in the eye for the first time all day. "Chuck Hansen, my mother, Dominique, and my grandmother, Marguerite."

Dominique had Becket's eyes and hair, but where Raleigh was tall and broad of shoulder, his mother was slender and barely of average height. Clearly, his size had come from his father.

Arranging his face into the supposedly charming smile, he let go of the rolly bag and hoped his hand wasn't sweaty as he offered it for a shake.

"Pleased to meet you, Dominique." At the last moment, he shifted his grip to lightly take her fingers and lift them to his mouth for a gentle, courtly kiss. "Marguerite." He did the same for the little bird woman, who still eyed him like prey instead of a guest.

Raleigh's mother smiled. "We are so pleased to meet you... Chuck?"

Nodding, he kept his dimple firmly in place, surprised by the thick accent. "I prefer it to Charles."

"Then Chuck, it shall be."

Okay, the mum was in. The jury was still out on the grandmum.

"Raleigh has told us much about you." Those intent eyes tilted, like a peregrine falcon spotting a mouse in a field a mile away. Marguerite's accent was heavier than Dominique's, though her English was still easily understandable. "He did not, cependent², tell us you were handsome."

Surprised, he felt his ears heat up on a blush. "Oh. That's... thank you."

Becket didn't look at him. Becket very determinedly didn't look at him.

Dominique stepped gracefully into the suddenly awkward silence. "You will please forgive us, Chuck, if we fall into le français while you are here." Smiling in a gentle way that somehow reminded him of Raleigh, though he was sure he'd never seen the bloke smile like that, she took his arm, resting her hand in the crook of his elbow. "We see our Raleigh so seldom that we forget ourselves."

She started away from the airstrip, still lightly holding his arm, and Chuck panicked slightly. His luggage. Would Raleigh...?

But he had underestimated his faux boyfriend. Raleigh shook his head at his Mamie, who gave him an inscrutible smirk, then took up his duffel again and pulled Chuck's rolly bag and garment bag along with him as they followed. Thank God. Relieved, he turned on the charm, shamelessly unleashing his dimples.

"I do appreciate you allowing me to be part of Marguerite's celebration, Dominique."

She looked up at him through her eyelashes, and he couldn't help but be charmed. She was a lovely woman. It wasn't hard to see where Raleigh had inherited his looks.

Not that he'd tell the bastard that.

"You had us quite upset, you know." When his eyes widened, she grinned. "Raleigh told us you would not allow him to come this weekend."

Just like that, he was reminded of all the weekends where he'd casually demanded Becket's presence at the office. How many times had the poor sod cancelled plans with his family to comply?

"Oi, yeah. Sorry about that. I... well, I didn't actually know about the party until later." Ears warming again, he smiled uncomfortably. "When he explained, how could I refuse?"

If Becket snorted right now, Chuck would throw the heavy-ass suitcase at his stupid face.

"Your accent is very unique. It is... exotic, yes? This is the word?"

He chuckled a little, glad his hands were occupied. Otherwise, he'd be running one over the back of his neck right about now. "You're one to talk, madame."

She laughed, the sound lilting and carefree, and he stared at her, amazed. Had Raleigh ever been like this? Laughing and sweet and oh, so easy to talk to?

At the thought, he couldn't help but look back at the bloke, only to catch him staring at his mother and supposed fiancé with... astonishment? Chuck couldn't really pin down the expression before Raleigh hid it and bent down to murmur with his grandmum, likely in French.

"Well, here we are." Dominique stopped next to... a pick-up truck. A very nice pick-up truck, but a truck, nonetheless. "Mamie always has the... how do you say it, Raleigh?"

Becket and Marguerite caught up, both smirking a bit, and Chuck couldn't help but wonder what they'd been talking about. Surely, Raleigh wouldn't spill their secret?

"Shotgun, Maman. Mamie always has shotgun, which means me and Chuck go in the back."

Chuck's eyes widened. These Alaskan whackjobs expected him to ride in the bed of a truck?

Raleigh must have seen the affront because he rolled his eyes. "The extended cab, miel."³

He took another look at the truck and realized, yes, it had a back seat. Well, what the hell did he know about trucks? And what the hell had Raleigh just called him? If he found out later that it was insulting....

Still, he was relieved to know he'd be _inside_ the vehicle, so he watched Becket toss his duffel in the bed of the truck, then followed suit with his own luggage, though he just about herniated himself getting the suitcase up that high. That done, he glanced at the gathered Beckets and suddenly felt overdressed in his casual suit.

Becket was in a henley and jeans, but Chuck had assumed that was just travel gear because he'd never seen the bloke in anything but office wear, even on weekends. Now, though, seeing his mum in her expensive but comfortable-looking jeans and his grandmum in a peacoat and khaki cargo pants, he wondered if he should have gone a bit less... formal.

At least he wasn't wearing a tie.

Thankfully, no one called him on it, and they all climbed into the truck with Dominique at the wheel. He hadn't expected the Alaskan scenery to be beautiful, and as they drove away from the airstrip, he couldn't help but wonder if he'd been secretly picturing igloos and penguins everywhere. There was certainly a quantity of snow on the distant mountains, of course, but the fields on either side of the road were green and lush, the trees in full leaf.

The breeze did carry a hint of a chill, but the ambient temperature was comfortable. It might be cold at night, but for now, it was quite pleasant.

The outer buildings of a smallish town passed by, and he perked up to get an idea of where Raleigh had grown up. The first business on the main drag was a hardware store. Becket's Hardware, in fact. Huh. Becket hadn't said anything about his family owning a shop, but they really hadn't talked about anything like that. Maybe it was just a common name here.

Becket's Grocery. What a coincidence.

Becket's Electronics. Becket's Tax Service. Becket's General Store. Becket's Cafe.

What the fuck?

Frowning, he leaned closer and whispered. "Ray."

No answer.

A little louder. "Oi, Ray."

Still no answer. Really? How childish. Well, two could play, and all that.

Balling up a fist, he laid a slightly harder than friendly punch to the bastard's upper arm and immediately regretted it. Not only did Becket jerk away and yowl, but Chuck's knuckles actually thrummed a bit from the impact. Was the bastard made of stone? Jesus.

"Dammit, Chuck, what?"

Well, that hardly sounded loverly. Scowling, he fixed the bloke with a glare. "You've been keeping secrets, love. Why didn't you tell me your name was on pretty much every shopfront in town?"

Marguerite turned and eyed him with those predatory eyes. "Our Raleigh is... how do you say... modest? He does not like to brag."

It sounded true enough -- he'd never heard Becket singing his own praises, anyway -- but somehow, Chuck didn't believe it. Becket didn't talk about home. He didn't talk about his family apparently owning the whole damn place. It seemed intentional.

On the other side of town, Dominique slowed and turned in at what looked distressingly like a dock. As in... for docking a boat. As in going out on the water that stretched before him in an unending spread.

This couldn't be happening.

"Uh... thought we were going to the hotel?" Which, he was quite sure, was on the mainland. Because he'd checked. Twice.

Dominique smiled over her shoulder as she parked the truck. "We cancelled your reservations, bien sûr.⁴ My son does not stay at a hotel. Neither does his amoureux⁵."

Panicked, he shot a look at Becket, but the rotten sod just shrugged, unconcerned. Everyone was already exiting the truck, and Chuck could only reach over and grab Becket's arm before the bastard could make his escape.

"I can't go on a boat."

Becket gave him a strange look. "You're really that set on a hotel room?"

He couldn't explain. He _couldn't_.

Sighing, Becket shrugged out of his grasp. "Okay, fine. Stay here. I'm going with Maman and Mamie."

"Becket!" He couldn't hide a note of panic. Thankfully, it caught the bastard's attention. "You know I can't swim!"

He wasn't honestly sure Becket knew that, but the bloke knew damn near everything else. Indeed, Raleigh didn't question the statement.

"Chuck, that's... why we're taking a boat."

His jaw clenched. This _was not_ funny.

As if seeing his genuine distress, Becket softened. "You can put on a life preserver. The house is on an island. There's no other way to get there."

He hated the water. He hated boats. He... God, he was one startle shy of a panic attack, here, and they hadn't even left the truck yet.

_Nut up, Chuck. You need these Yanks to back you up with Chau._

But... water. _Boat_.

Gritting his teeth together, he climbed down out of the truck and collected the luggage Becket had hauled up out of the bed whilst shooting him short, considering glances. The bloke -- who really was a good sort, no matter how many times Chuck mentally cursed him -- even took off with the heaviest piece, the suitcase. Better still, Raleigh didn't try to push him, just walked on ahead to catch up with his mum and grandmum, who were standing at what looked like the edge of the world.

"You two go on down first. I'll haul this one down, then let Chuck hand down the rest."

The grandmum shot Chuck a sharp but amused look, and he blushed. He had definitely overpacked. It had better not be a running joke for the weekend.

Then, he caught up to where Raleigh stood and looked down. A ridiculously long way down. That was a shitty old wooden ladder leading down to an even shittier, less stable slat dock, and Chuck was supposed to climb down there in a fucking suit?

He shot his asshole fiancé an accusing glare. Becket, the bastard, only shrugged and swung around one-handed to make his way down after his mum. With Chuck's heavy-ass suitcase. Like it was easy.

Bloody show-off.

Grumbling, Chuck peered over the edge until Becket stepped easily off the ladder and onto the dock. Then, he grudgingly lowered his rolly bag, garment bag, and carry-on down. Without a word, Dominique and Marguerite stowed them away on the boat. It was quite a nice boat, he supposed, for all that it was A) a _boat_ and B) on the _water_.

Why was he doing this again?

Right. Australia. Everything he had no intention of revisiting there.

Steeling himself, he swung around to the right side of the ladder and started down. It felt even less sturdy than it looked, as if the thin slats would break under his weight. He wasn't any bigger than Becket, really -- perhaps a bit more broad in the chest and waist, but basically the same height and weight. It had held Becket's weight. It should hold his.

"Need some help?"

To his credit, Becket didn't sound smug. Just... offering assistance, like always.

"I'm good."

He wasn't. At all. Suits were not made for ladders, and he was dismally afraid the sleeves of his jacket would split, either because of the flex of his biceps or simple stress at the armpit seam.

Then, his foot stepped down as usual and met... nothing. Air. He almost let go of the rungs in surprise and must have actually wavered because, just like that, Raleigh's hands were at his waist, supporting him. Strong hands. Held his weight easily until he sorted himself.

"Sorry. Should've warned you. It stops short so the dock doesn't constantly splinter the bottom of the ladder when the water's choppy, but the water level's a little lower than usual this year."

Blushing for no good reason, he let Becket ease him backward and down onto the gently pitching dock, then pulled away awkwardly. It wasn't that... he didn't... it was just weird, okay?

"Er... yeah. Thanks, mate. Good save."

Raleigh grinned softly. "This time of year, that water's only a few degrees above freezing. You're no good to me if you're dead, miel."

Oh. Right. The fake... thing. Feeling his ears burn, he shot the maternal Beckets a look and... dammit. They looked like they were enjoying the show. Fondly, but... yeah. Enjoying.

He shot Becket a glare, but the bloke only smirked a bit and gestured toward the boat. The forgotten dread returned instantly, and he was disgustingly relieved when Raleigh put one of those strong hands at his lower back to guide him that way. Raleigh wouldn't let him chicken out. Raleigh wouldn't let him fall out of the boat.

Raleigh wouldn't let him drown.

He didn't even protest when his mock fiancé buckled him into the old but virtually unused life vest as if he were a child incapable of doing it himself. Instead, he felt leagues better once it was all done up. Even if he was somehow pitched into the drink, at least he wouldn't sink.

Thus, he was able to clamber -- with Becket's help -- into the constantly shifting boat without actually breaking down into a panic attack. He didn't like it, but it surely wouldn't be too a long ride. And, whilst Dominique had proved a perfectly good driver, he felt better still when Raleigh took the helm and guided them expertly away from the dock and out into the open water.

Open water. He didn't have to ask himself how long it had been. He could tell anyone who asked at any given moment, because the last time he'd been on the water had been his tenth birthday. And what a birthday it had been.

_No. Not the time._

And it wasn't. Raleigh's mum and grandmum were clearly confident and relaxed on the boat, enjoying the chilly wind off the water as they sped out to sea past the big rocks dotting the coastline, so there couldn't be any real danger. He tried to relax himself, watching as the boat arrowed toward a spot of green pushing up in the distance.

An island, Raleigh had said. Who the hell lived on an island? Even an Alaskan one?

Oh. Right. Someone whose name was on fully half the shops in town.

Seriously. The bastard had been keeping some bloody huge secrets. And thinking about why kept him from thinking too hard about being on a boat for the first time in over twenty years.

Luckily, they skimmed over the water smoothly enough, bringing the green treetops into better focus. Raleigh turned them a bit, circling around to the other side of the island. Finally, the solid wall of timber broke and....

"Jesus Christ."

Three sets of eyes hit him all at once, though Becket quickly went back to piloting the boat.

"Sorry, just...." He gestured vaguely at the bloody great mansion in a manicured clearing on a private fucking island. "I mean, who are you people?"

The grandmum perked up. "So glad you asked, bel homme⁶, because that is--"

"Mamie."

The single word held weight but not heat. Becket didn't even turn from his focus on driving to say it. However, Grandmum Mamie -- who held herself regally even in cargo pants and had a focused intensity that Chuck assumed meant she didn't back down easily -- sighed and let the moment pass. If he ever didn't feel like an alien crashing in Times Square at some point this weekend, he'd have to remember to ask her.

Sometime when Raleigh wasn't around, preferably.

Right now, it was enough to watch Becket cut the engine and maneuver them up against the dock with an ease that spoke of a lifetime at sea. The picture of the ocean on his cubicle wall made a lot more sense in light of how comfortable the bloke was at helm. It was yet another side of him that Chuck had never suspected.

Thus, he kept quiet as Becket helped him out of the boat, then handed out all the luggage. In fact it was Raleigh who noticed the little knots of people trailing about on the lawn and asked the question.

"Maman? What...?"

Dominique tossed her son a syrupy sweet smile that Chuck didn't trust for a moment, no matter how charming. "You thought the prodigal son could return without celebration?"

Marguerite pushed lightly at the mum's arm. "What ma fille⁷ means is that many people wish to see you, Raleigh. We have missed you. Only close friends, though."

Still looking entirely too innocent, Raleigh's maman shrugged. "Forty or so close friends. And all so excited to meet your copain."

Chuck blinked. "Sorry, but did you say forty?"

Her smile widened.

He shot Raleigh a helpless look. Shaking his head, Raleigh heaved a sigh as he hefted his own bags and Chuck's suitcase.

"Don't ask. I have no idea. Let's just... get this over with."

Chuck suspected that would be the theme of the entire weekend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¹ - boyfriend, grandson  
> ² - however  
> ³ - honey  
> ⁴ - of course  
> ⁵ - lover  
> ⁶ - pretty man  
> ⁷ - my daughter


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one has French and Russian. Again, just hover over the non-English text and the English translation will appear. I've also added translations at the end of the chapter.

Walking into his family home took every ounce of courage Raleigh had ever possessed. The nightmare was bad enough with just his family in the mix, but now... Bradbury above, he would have to fake-come-out in front of most of the town. At least it appeared his maman had broke the actual news for him so he didn't have to make a spectacle of himself.

Fuck that. He could never come back again. Simple as that. He'd do this thing now, marry his impossible boss for three years, and then just... disappear, never to be heard from again.

He couldn't do this.

"So, Ray."

And his precious dumpling of a fake fiancé wouldn't stop with the Ray bullshit.

"Why didn't you tell me you're some kind of Alaskan royalty or something?"

_If you only knew, asshole._

He knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't help himself. He went on the offensive. There was no defense for this situation, and Chuck... well, he made himself a damn good target.

"How could I, pumpkin? We've been talking about _you_ for the last three years." Forcing a bright smile, he caught the eye of one of the most imposing men he'd ever met. "Mayor Pentecost! Should I be honored or terrified that you're at my welcome home party?"

Chuck thrummed with the urge to retaliate at his side, but the ginger bastard would just have to hold it in. No way he'd risk pooching the deal in front of the mayor of a town, no matter how small.

Raleigh's smile became a little more real.

"Mr. Becket." As always, Pentecost sounded ready to deliver either an inspirational speech or a eulogy. The man just came packaged in _gravitas_. Might be the accent. Or the height. Or how those dark eyes always seemed to see right through any bullshit. "I suppose that depends on you, as always."

Oh, that was a challenge. Pentecost was the worst about giving him enough rope to hang himself. Raleigh had been getting himself into accidental trouble with the man since childhood.

"Just for that, I'd like you to meet my... boyfriend, Chuck Hansen." _Please don't notice the hesitation._ "Chuck, this fine, upstanding gentleman is both the mayor of Sitka and the manager of Becket's Hardware, Stacker Pentecost."

If Pentecost caught his lapse, he didn't point it out. Instead, he offered his hand, and Raleigh had the distinct pleasure of watching his normally intimidating boss have to look up at someone for the second time in as many days.

Chuck shook politely enough. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Pentecost."

" _Marshal_ Pentecost."

The correction wasn't rude, but it was definitely pointed. Stacker may be retired from active service, but he still considered himself a member of the British Royal Air Force. Even after twenty-odd years.

Apparently determined to be pleasant, Chuck corrected himself. "Sorry, marshal."

Stacker studied his so-called boyfriend for a long moment, then let him off the hook. "Admittedly, it wasn't part of the introduction. It's nice to meet you, Mr. Hansen."

Chuck's shoulders lowered by a full inch, and he smiled. Suddenly, Raleigh realized his hellspawn of a boss had dimples. Huge dimples. How the hell had he never noticed? He'd seen Chuck fake a smile at least a hundred times, and the bastard had been practically flirting with his maman since they got off the plane.

Maybe Raleigh just hadn't been looking.

"Appreciate it. I feel a bit over my head at the moment. Raleigh never told me he was so popular."

See? Not that hard to say his name. More proof that the Australian asshole was butchering it on purpose.

The silence drew out, and he abruptly realized they were waiting for him to contribute. Blinking, he hoped he hadn't missed anything important.

"Uh... I really wasn't... popular, I don't think. I just... I mean, it's a small town. Everyone knows everyone."

Pentecost raised an eyebrow. "You sell yourself short, Mr. Becket. You may not have applied yourself in school, but you were a surgeon on the football field."

Both of Chuck's eyebrows rose, and he turned to look at Raleigh with something like wonder. "Oi, you played footie?"

Before he could figure out if that was a good or a bad thing, Pentecost stepped in. "Sorry, I should clarify. He played American football, not rugby or soccer."

Sure enough, the burgeoning interest washed away on a scowl. "That rubbish game? I'm ashamed to know you right now, Becket. Honestly. I feel betrayed."

Pentecost chuckled, and Raleigh could only assume that Australians were like Brits in how they showed affection by being complete dicks. Worse, it appeared the two were bonding over the experience. Well, he didn't have to stand here and watch.

"Hey, miel, how about I get you a drink?"

Pentecost's eyebrow rose, and Raleigh resigned himself to the knowledge that, while his old boss was apparently all right with him bringing home a boyfriend after a history that insisted he was straight, the man could still be surprised by a French endearment.

What could he say? When Chuck wanted to put on a show, he called him "love". It sounded fine, thanks to the Australian accent, but even in Raleigh's own head, the plain American "love" sounded a little too... _too_. And "pumpkin" was for when Raleigh was being a jerk on purpose. And "honey" in English sounded like he was trying too hard. He figured a French endearment sounded as natural and casual as "love" sounded on that rough, Australian drawl.

And he was thinking way, way too hard about this. So he raised his eyebrows and debated pressing for an answer.

Chuck eyed him for a moment longer, and Raleigh couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking. At work, he knew what was on his boss's mind with a single look, but now?

Everything was so _different_ with this whole fake relationship thing thrown into the mix. He wondered if things felt as weird to Chuck, but... well... he couldn't see himself asking that question. They were still boss and assistant, after all. Raleigh had bought himself a little wiggle room with this whole "saving you from deportation" thing, but not quite _that_ much.

"Miel? A drink?"

Because Pentecost was looking back and forth between them now. Chuck was taking way too long to answer. And then it hit him.

Chuck had no idea what "miel" meant.

_Well, shit._

Gathering up his courage, he reached out, took his supposed boyfriend by the upper arm, and leaned in to press the barest possible kiss he could get away with on Chuck's temple. "Honey? You feeling okay? If you're jetlagged, you should load up on water."

Light dawned, and instead of ripping his head off for his audacity, Chuck actually gave him a wry smile. They were getting better with this nonverbal communication thing.

"Actually, a water would be great, love. Thanks."

He looked over to see if Pentecost had seen anything amiss, but the mayor only looked... considering. Not suspicious but thoughtful. Raleigh could understand that.

So, he grinned like he was ten years old again and begging a piece of candy from the nickel jar when he only had four cents. "Can I trust you not to let the natives eat him, Mr. Mayor?"

Chuck snorted and gave him a little shove. "Get on with it, Becket. We've got grown-up stuff to talk about, like why it seems like anyone getting fouled is suddenly dying of an injury."

To his surprise, Pentecost lit up. "Who do you follow?"

Raleigh gladly made his retreat, reminding himself that he would actually have to return with water at some point. He should probably hydrate, too. This trip would be stressful enough without dealing with jetlag. Alaska messed with the body's circadian rhythms enough at the best of times, thanks to being far enough north that sometimes the sun only set for a few hours. Or only rose for a few hours.

Dammit. He should've kept a few candies in his pockets. He really, really needed one right now.

He'd only just reached the refreshments table in the next room when someone punched his arm -- the same one Chuck had sucker-punched in the truck, the bastard -- out of nowhere. He startled enough to spill punch all over his hand and barely held in a shout.

"How could you do this, Raleigh Becket?"

Guilt-stricken without quite knowing why, he forewent cleaning up his mess to turn around and see an old friend, Wei Cheung, glaring at him. Oh. Was this... shit, he should've known it wouldn't be this easy to lie about something so obviously not true, but--

"Why didn't you tell me? I thought we were bros."

He blinked.

Cheung's scowl deepened. "If I'd known you were gay, I would've hit on you in junior high, you asshole."

Relief dawned, then was immediately crushed under annoyance. "I wasn't gay in junior high. _Bro_."

Technically, he wasn't gay now, either. Nor was he bi, as he was pretending to be.

This shit was getting confusing.

Cheung's expression softened to mere annoyance. "Still. I feel like you lied to me." His expression softened further. "Have you told her?"

His heart twisted. He didn't ask who his friend meant. "It's... complica--"

"Oi, there you are, love." His jack-in-the-box fake boyfriend appeared out of nowhere, right at his elbow. "Thought I'd lost you. Talking about footie is thirsty work. Don't suppose I could get a pint of the black stuff?"

He blanked. "Coffee? Chuck, caffeine will just dehydrate you worse--"

"Lager, Raleigh. Jesus. You all right, then?"

Oh. Right. He actually did know that. He'd occasionally run down to a corner store on a weekend evening to satisfy his tyrant of a boss's sudden urge for a "bottle of the black stuff". He just....

Jetlag. He was blaming everything from here out on jetlag.

"Sorry. We don't usually have much alcohol in the house." For very good reason. And Cheung was standing right there, glaring at them both. "Oh, Chuck Hansen, this is my old friend, Wei Cheung."

Cheung glared but offered his hand. Chuck shook it with good grace.

"Any friend of Raleigh's, as they say. Cheung, was it?"

And Raleigh was suddenly reminded that Chuck was actually an incredibly intelligent and savvy businessman. Most people didn't realize that plenty of Asian cultures still put their family names first, but Chuck hadn't missed a beat.

Cheung, however, wasn't impressed. "Wei is fine."

His eyebrows shot up, and he gave Chuck a quick side-eye to see if he--

Yeah. Chuck definitely felt the burn. Raleigh could almost feel the walls going up. "Then I guess you'd better make it Hansen, yeah?"

The last thing he needed was a brawl in the middle of his homecoming shindig. Thinking fast, he again took Chuck by the arm. "Okay, I think the jetlag is really setting in, miel. You could probably stand to eat, too. You know how you get when you're hungry."

Without waiting for a response from either of them, he practically dragged Chuck away, bypassing the refreshment table entirely and heading for the kitchen, which he hoped like hell would be empty.

"Oi, what the fuck was that, Becket?"

Blushing, he peered around the doorway and sighed with relief that, yes, the coast was clear. Once they were safe, he let Chuck go and rubbed his hands over his face and up into his hair.

"Apparently, my old friend is pissed that I didn't come out in junior high, when he could have made a pass at me."

Chuck blinked, some of his bluster fading. "And he's taking it out on me? Doesn't bloody well seem fair, mate."

"Of all the reactions I dreaded, I'll admit that _that_ wasn't one of them." Sweet HAL, but he was tired. Did he sound as tired as he felt?

Apparently he did, because Chuck actually looked... concerned. "Oi, I guess I didn't... fuck, mate. You're just now coming out?"

Mortified, he stared. "Considering I'm not actually gay? Yeah. You could say that."

If Raleigh was mortified, Chuck was... absolutely gobsmacked. And... something else. Something Raleigh couldn't classify.

"What, do I come across as gay?" He was desperately tempted to add "not that there's anything wrong with that", but Seinfeld had ruined the demurral for anyone else. "I mean... are _you?_ "

He wanted to die. He wanted to smack his head against the nearest wall until he forgot the last two days forever. This was not a conversation he'd ever thought to have.

Let alone with Chuck Hansen, tyrant boss extraordinaire.

"I... uh...." Chuck swallowed hard, still gobsmacked. "Never classified it, really. I just... like who I like. Thought sure a confident bloke like you'd be the same. But... Jesus, Becket! Why'd you agree to this if you aren't at least bi or whatever? No wonder you're acting so bloody weird."

At that, he straightened, taking absurd offense and completely blank as to why. "Hey, I experimented in college, okay? I mean, who didn't?"

Tolkien save him. He was an idiot. What was he even doing. One second, he was halfway offended that Chuck thought he was gay. The next, all-the way offended that the bastard thought he wasn't faking gay well enough.

And Chuck... Chuck just gave him a look so full of... just... so _full_ that Raleigh had to look away.

"I never thought... fuck, Raleigh. I'm so... it wasn't supposed to be this complicated."

That was perilously close to an apology, and Raleigh finally realized what that heavy expression was. Remorse. Chuck Hansen actually felt bad about something and had no earthly idea how to express the emotion.

Of course, it was about basically blackmailing Raleigh into lying about his sexuality to his family and hometown, but hey. He figured this was a big step for a man who thought nothing of commandeering a fired colleague's robot collection.

"And now you've got to tell them... shit. _Bollocks_."

Right. Not just a boyfriend. He had to tell everyone they were engaged, too.

_Baby steps, Rals. Baby steps._

"I don't have to tell them anything right this second." Pulling himself together, he went to the fridge for two bottles of water. "I wasn't kidding about jetlag. Hydrating is supposed to help. Right now, I just want to get through this damn party without losing my mind."

"Too right, mate." Sighing, Chuck cracked open the bottle and took a healthy gulp. Then, he looked up, intentionally meeting Raleigh's eyes. "Listen, Raleigh--"

"You think you can hide in the kitchen, mal'chik¹, but you see I find you anywhere."

Raleigh definitely knew that booming voice. Instead of looking at the source, he looked at Chuck and was infinitely rewarded by the blatant intimidation writ large on those usually smug features. If Hannibal Chau had been a bear and Stacker Pentecost was a minor deity, Aleksis (or was it Sasha?) Kaidanovsky was no moon but a space station.

"Jesus Christ." The poor bastard's voice was weak. "What the fuck kind of town do you live in, mate?"

Raleigh glanced down about a foot and a half from Mr. Kaidanovsky's height and smiled at Mrs. Kaidanovsky, who eyed Chuck with narrow eyes.

"Mr. and Mrs. Kaidanovsky, this is Chuck Hansen. And he has had a very long day."

He didn't bother with their first names. To this day, he wasn't sure which was Aleksis and which was Sasha. He was pretty sure they liked it that way, actually, and went out of their way to be as confusing as possible when they introduced themselves.

The missus smirked. "You had nothing to do with that, did you, dragotsennyy²?"

He couldn't help it. He blushed. "Who, me? I am innocent as the driven snow, and you know it."

Her smirk deepened, and Mr. Kaidanovsky actually laughed, the sound reminding him of the Rock Biter from _The Neverending Story_. Chuck actually backed a step away, nearly dropping his water bottle.

"You have an innocent face, little Becket, but you have never been innocent." The giant took pity on him. And, by proxy, Chuck. "But I want to hear about this New York of yours."

"Yes." Mrs. Kaidanovsky let her eyes roam back to Chuck, who was apparently trying to become invisible. "Although I see why you do not leave more often."

Chuck's fair skin immediately turned pink, the color starting at the tips of his ears, then crawling up his neck and into his cheeks. It was... fucking _adorable_.

 _Fucking adorable_ wasn't a description he ever thought he'd use about his psycho of a boss.

"Yeah, Raleigh."

He froze, his amusement washing out of him like blood from a severed vein.

"Tell us about New York. And why you don't leave it more often."

His head turned slowly on his neck, as if he was made of rust and barbed wire. "Hey, Dad."

He felt Chuck's eyes on him, but he couldn't look away as his father strolled closer, a glass of what was most likely ginger ale in his hand and that same old expression on his face -- disapproval overlaid by smug self assurance.

"Hello, son. Long time." Dark eyes skipped over the stone-faced Kaidanovskys and settled on Chuck, the disapproval cooling even further. "Is this Charlie?"

Chuck stiffened. "Chuck. And yeah, that's me. And you are...?"

The corner of his father's mouth twisted up slightly. "Richard." Just like that, he dismissed this secondary target and turned his unfortunate attention back to the prime objective. "So, go on. What's so great about New York, besides three-martini lunches, reading all day, and exploring your sexuality?"

His throat locked up and his fists clenched.

Mrs. Kaidanovsky, who clearly disapproved of the change in atmosphere, forced a pleasant tone. "I see now, little Becket. I would not leave such pleasures, either. This being an editor is like that, yes?"

Raleigh tended to mentally refer to science fiction tropes instead of the Almighty, as he had long since doubted the sanity of any deity that let the world be as fucked up as it was, but right now?

God bless Mrs. Kaidanovsky.

He opened his mouth to both answer and covertly thank her for her support, but good ol' Dad beat him to it, of course.

"Oh, Raleigh's not an editor. Charlie here is."

" _Chuck_."

Uh-oh. Chuck's jaw was tight. This went futher south by the second. He should've known his father wouldn't take something like this lying down.

"In fact, Raleigh's his assistant."

He closed his mouth. He refused to contribute any further to his own humiliation. The Kaidanovskys obviously wanted to help, but he knew his father wouldn't allow them to.

There was no help here.

And then, help _did_ come, and from perhaps the most unexpected source.

"Actually, Dick," Chuck said, coming close enough to take Raleigh's hand in his and threading their fingers together. "That _is_ your name, right? Dick?"

Mrs. Kaidanovsky's smirk returned. Mr. Kaidanovsky had to look away.

"I prefer Richard."

"Right." Unimpressed, Chuck practically molded to his side. "As I was saying, Dick, Raleigh didn't want to say anything yet, but he's being promoted to full editor in a few months. We're already picking up a manuscript he chose."

Mrs. Kaidanovsky's smirk turned wicked. "How wonderful for you, dragotsennyy."

Finally controlling his expression even as his eyes glinted, Mr. Kaidanovsky sighed. "But sad, too. You will be home even less, now, yes?"

But Raleigh had eyes only for his father's expression, which rapidly cycled from the usual condescending arrogance to pure sulk.

"Yes, wonderful." Tilting his head in a dismissive nod, dear ol' Dad turned and walked away.

And though Chuck had come to his rescue and the Kaidanovskys were clearly appalled by his father's attitude, Raleigh just... couldn't. Not anymore. His jaw clenching, he twisted his fingers loose from Chuck's, gave him a light squeeze on the shoulder, tipped his head to the Kaidanovskys, then strode out of the kitchen.

He had a score to settle. It was long past time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¹ - boy  
> ² - precious (precious stone)


	13. Chapter 13

Chuck did his best to not run after his not-fiancé like a mother hen, but it was damn hard to stay in the kitchen, chatting with the mutant -- but obviously loyal -- Russians. He gave them his attention as best he could, grateful they'd tried to shut that bloody wanker up, but he knew he wasn't as on as usual.

He just... fuck. Becket wasn't even bi-curious? And he'd agreed to this fiasco of an engagement anyway, even though it meant telling everyone he was queer when he wasn't? And was clearly paying for it dearly, which left Chuck feeling like the biggest asshole in the universe and, oddly enough, strangely protective of the poor sod.

"But we are keeping you from little Becket," the missus finally said, her expression far kinder than it had been even five minutes before. "I think you are good for him, malen'kiy voin¹."

He had no idea what she'd just called him, but she sounded pleased with him. Which was a good thing, considering her husband could squash him like a bug.

"Thanks for that, mum, but I don't know that I've done anything but muddy the waters here."

The giant bloke, who was almost as big as Chau and Pentecost put together, reached out an enormous paw and settled it heavily on Chuck's shoulder. "Those waters have been muddy for many years, little Hansen. Perhaps they need a strong current to clear them."

Poetic, if not particularly helpful. But he appreciated the sentiment, so he nodded to them before taking his leave and heading back into the chaos to find his sham fiancé.

Unfortunately, he was just in time to see Raleigh spot his old man and arrow straight through the shifting crowd toward him. Oh, bloody hell, was the silly sod about to start a fight with his dad? Chuck could absolutely see himself decking his own father, but somehow, he doubted Raleigh had it in him.

Plus, even if he did, such a thing was probably bad form at a welcome home party.

So, Chuck did his best to navigate the crowd toward the less-populous room Becket had dragged ol' Dick into. It took some doing, but he settled himself just outside the wide entryway and tried like hell to not look like he was eavesdropping.

"Should I sniff your glass, Dad?" Oh, bugger. Raleigh sounded bloody furious.

Dick snorted and didn't answer.

"Because there's no other reason I can think of for what just happened in there."

It struck him like lightning, and he leaned his head back against the wall, a few things becoming instantly clearer. Raleigh's father was a recovering alcoholic. Which explained why they didn't keep alcohol in the house and why his assistant had never once accepted any of the lager Chuck had demanded he pick up over the years. Why Raleigh had never made that much of a push to come home when he clearly missed his mum and grandmum and knew the whole damn town.

Maybe even why Dick was such a gigantic douchebag.

"Oh, so your sudden boyfriend is my fault now?"

"This is not about Chuck." Seething. Raleigh was seething, and Chuck didn't blame him one bit.

"No? Because he seems like the elephant in the room to me." Another snort. "I mean, for the last three years, the nicest thing you could say about him was that he was an egomaniacal tyrant, and now he's suddenly the love of your life? All while you've been chasing skirts and _only_ skirts since you were out of diapers?"

Well, he _had_ assumed he was the subject of more than one angry phone call back home. And "egomaniacal tyrant" wasn't really as bad as he'd expected. Of course, ol' Dick had said that was the _nicest_ thing Becket had said about him.

None of which was the point.

"Okay, so I've vented on a few bad days, yeah." _Oh, Raleigh_. "But that doesn't change the fact that that man in there? The one you just insulted in front of company? He's one of the most intelligent people I've ever met, is the most successful editor I've ever had the pleasure to know, and had my back when my own father raked me across the coals for my sexual preference."

He blinked. Did... did Raleigh mean any of that? Because it made him feel--

Dick snorted yet again. Maybe he should get the wanker a tissue. And shove it down his throat.

"Don't give me that, kid. He's the meal ticket you're flirting with to get ahead at the company, and if you're actually fucking him, it's just that much more disgusting."

His shoulders stiffened, and he clenched his fists to walk his ass in there and knock the fucker down. How dare that useless fuck say something like that about Raleigh? Raleigh, who'd worked his ass off, all day every day, for three years when everyone else in that godforsaken office could barely be arsed to do an honest hour's work on any given day.

"Sir?"

Raleigh, who'd brought him matzo ball soup and made him honey lemon tea that time he got flu and couldn't edit del Toro's rewrites, even though the bloke had already put in thirty-six hours straight to get them turned in before the deadline and had looked like death warmed over himself.

"Hey, mister?"

Raleigh, who had patiently buckled him into a life vest without comment about what a great fucking baby Chuck was being about a little water.

A tap on his arm. "Mister?"

Shaking himself, he realized he'd been lost in both fury and his own thoughts, and now that wanker, Wei Cheung, was standing in front of him and offering him a tray full of vegetable spears and some kind of dip.

"Crudités?"

"Oi, Wei, not now." He really didn't have time for this fucker. A much bigger fucker was waiting for a right cross just in the next room.

"But you look hungry, sir." The fucker actually poked the edge of the tray at his chest. "You're pale. You should eat."

What the fuck was up with this wanker? "Look, Wei, I'm sorry Becket didn't go for you in school or whatever, but I need to--"

Dark eyes widened. "Sir?" Then, those same eyes narrowed and a weird smile cut across the wanker's face. "Oh, I... yes, I see now. Please forgive."

His own eyes narrowed. "Why are you being so nice all of a sudden?"

Those eyes got shifty. "Uh... Raleigh told me to. So... you eat, yes?"

Ugh, God. That was just like Becket. Even with his own shit going down, the big bloke _would_ go out of his way to right what he considered a personal slight.

Maybe if he ate one thing, this wanker would leave him alone and he'd be free to go in there and have a little fist chat with ol' Dick. Unfortunately, the vegetables were all jumbled together in a supposedly artful tangle, and a good quarter of the mess was... green peppers.

Fuck, he hated green peppers.

"Er... thanks, but no thanks, mate. I'll just--"

"No no. They are very nice, yes?" The weirdly insistent wanker actually picked up a big, thick slice of green pepper and dunked it in the unfortunately chunky dip to offer it. "I make it myself."

Fuck. "Oi, that's nice, but I don't... it's a texture thing, yeah? Mushy inside and shoe leather outside." And the fact that his dad had told a wide-eyed, trusting five-year-old Chuck that green peppers tasted like huntsman spiders. "Thanks, though. I'll just go--"

He turned his head a bit to indicate the next room, where Raleigh was still arguing with his dad, and the wanker took that moment to shove the pepper forward, perfectly timing the strike so Chuck's mouth was open. Suddenly, he had a mouthful of green pepper spear and chunky white dip, and it took all his focus not to choke on it.

Throat hitching, he tried to chew up at least the one bite and swallow it, hoping the single vegetable would be enough to satisfy the vengeful bloke who was clearly just fucking with him now.

Then, Raleigh's voice rose in the next room. "I said you heard me." And now, the poor sod actually shouted. "Everyone? I have an announcement to make. Chuck and I are getting married!"

The half-chewed mouthful of demon pepper and nasty bleu cheese dip exited his mouth with extreme prejudice. He took a moment's fierce pleasure in the expression on Wei's face before he hastily apologized and poked his head around the corner, still swallowing awkwardly against the taste in his mouth.

Really, Becket? This was the best time to break the rest of the news?

The few people in the room looked... surprised, to say the least, but people from other rooms in the fucking mansion he'd found himself in were now streaming in, rubbernecking to see whatever drama had required a raised voice.

"Chuck, where are-- ah, there you are, pumpkin." Raleigh didn't look pleased with his announcement. He looked bloody furious, the muscle in his jaw ticking as he forced a smile. "Come on in here so we can do this right."

Well, he'd been on his way in, anyway. This might not be the way he'd expected it to go, but whatever. Raleigh'd had Chuck's back more times than he could count over the years. He could return the favor now, especially since this was all his fault.

So, willing away the continued hitching in his throat at the disgusting taste of green pepper and bleu cheese in his mouth, he did his best to produce his charming smile and went to stand by his fiancé's side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¹ - little warrior


	14. Chapter 14

Seething inside, Raleigh kept his hand at the small of Chuck's back as they strolled through the downstairs of his parents' home, meeting and greeting after the big announcement. Chuck played his role to perfection, smiling with those dimples and gladhanding as if he was waging a personal bidding war for the publishing rights to every last life story in the house.

Raleigh was glad of it, though. He couldn't have strung together two words if someone pointed a gun to his head.

Yeah, he'd known his father would be an ass about the whole getting-married-to-a-man thing, but... dammit all to hell, he hadn't expected the _disgust_. The outright malice.

His wonderful maman had only paused to catch her breath when Raleigh had basically told her he was gay. His asshole of a father had gone full-on bigot. If the bastard could disown Raleigh, he probably would have right then and there.

But that was the whole problem. Raleigh couldn't be disowned if he tried, and oh, how he'd tried.

"Raleigh?"

His heart jumped into his throat, and the roiling anger vanished like a snuffed flame. Eyes widening, he focused on the vision of safety and tranquility in front of him and suddenly wanted to cry.

"Mako."

Her tiny, elfin face curved in a small smile, and he couldn't help himself. He would never not go to Mako. Before he even considered the movement, he'd stepped away from Chuck and wrapped her up in a rib-squeezing hug.

"You have no idea how good it is to see you."

How many times had this seemingly small woman pulled him out of himself simply by being there? He couldn't even begin to count that high. He just knew that if Mako Mori was here, everything would be fine.

"I hope you don't mind," she murmured, returning the hug just as tight. As the Bard said, though she be but little, she is fierce. "Your mother invited me and insisted that I come."

He finally pulled away, but only out to arm's length so he could get a look at her. She had cut her hair into a flattering and kind of edgy wedge. He particularly liked the blue streaks she'd put at each point. They suited her.

"Are you kidding? I'd have been lost if you didn't." Smiling softly, he reached up to touch one of those blue streaks. "What did he say?"

Her small smile widened until she looked mischievous. "That he respected my choices and that, as a woman, I didn't need to ask any man, even him, for permission to be who I am."

Yeah. That was definitely a Stacker Pentecost speech. He smirked. "He had that look though, didn't he?"

She chuckled. "Sensei _always_ has that look." Her eyes widened, and she suddenly looked contrite. "And we are being so rude."

He frowned, then realized what she meant. Chuck. His fiancé. His _new_ fiancé. His new _male_ fiancé. Shit.

"Right, sorry."

Hoping he didn't look as stupid as he felt, he turned to give Chuck an apologetic look, then reached out a hand, half-afraid the touchy bastard wouldn't take it. He had again underestimated his boss, though. Or his boss's desperation, anyway. Though the poor guy had an odd look on his face, he took Raleigh's hand and let him pull him closer.

"Mako Mori, this is Chuck Hansen. My fiancé."

He watched anxiously as they studied each other. Chuck offered his hand. Mako took it.

"So I heard. Congratulations to you both." Mako's dark, fathomless eyes flicked to Raleigh's for a second before returning to Chuck. "I am so pleased to meet you."

Chuck returned the cautious formality, not trying his charm. Raleigh wanted to nod approvingly. Chuck Hansen was no one's fool. One look at Mako Mori, and the wily businessman in him realized false sentiment would be wasted on someone so shrewd.

"And you, as well, Miss Mori."

Mako didn't invite the less formal use of her first name, but she did smile a bit. "Have I arrived too late for the story?"

He blinked and looked at Chuck, who blinked and looked back, equally lost. "What story?"

The smile didn't lessen, but her eyes had sharpened when they met his again. "How you proposed, of course."

"Ah, mais oui!"

He startled. Where the hell had Mamie come from? Sometimes, he swore the woman could teleport.

"How you make the proposal says much about your character, petit-fils."

Put neatly on the spot, he fidgeted and tried to think of anything to say. This was why he was an editor instead of a writer. Dammit, he and Chuck should have consulted on this and had something ready.

Desperate, he squeezed Chuck's hand and turned what he sincerely hoped were the puppy eyes on his supposed fiancé. "Do you want to tell it, miel?"

_Please please please say yes. I swear I'll be nice all weekend if you'll just do this one thing for me because I'm more likely to say I put a ring around your breadstick at dinner one night than anything else, and Mako would kill me if I'd actually done anything that trite, so please please please--_

"Uh... sure, love. I'll, uh... yeah. I'll just do that." Chuck sounded just as futzed as Raleigh felt, but to his credit, he stepped into the ring willingly enough. "Hm. Where to start, yeah?"

Worse, the word had apparently spread because people came streaming into the parlor, smiling and anticipatory. His maman joined Mamie on the loveseat, so Raleigh took the opportunity to get out of the center stage and sit on the loveseat's arm.

He wasn't abandoning Chuck. He was barely five feet away. Where he could watch without being watched.

Speaking of watching... ugh. His father crept in from the kitchen and leaned against the doorjamb with another glass of ginger ale, his expression as pissy as a grounded teenager's.

Raleigh forced his attention back to Chuck.

"So. Where were we?" Poor guy. "Oi! Coney Island, right, love?"

At this point, he would agree with anything. "Yup. We'd just ridden the Cyclone."

More confident, Chuck smiled a little and started to work the crowd. "Right. Well, Raleigh had eaten one of those godawful deep-fried pickles before we got on the ride. Ever had one of those?"

Most of these people hadn't been further from Sitka than Juneau. No hands went up.

"Well, don't. They're bloody awful." Unperturbed, Chuck went on, really getting into it now. "When we got off the Cyclone, Raleigh looked a bit under the weather, and I told him it was probably that damn pickle, but he kept saying he felt fine. Men, am I right?"

Every single woman in the room tittered. Chuck did have his charm. Even Raleigh could admit that, despite three years of hell as his assistant.

"So I thought I'd keep him off any other rides by taking him to the carnie games and winning him something."

Raleigh grunted. "What, like I couldn't win you something?"

He really wasn't offended. He just figured he shouldn't sit the story out completely. Plus, it had become a little too much fun to push Chuck's buttons, knowing the jerk couldn't do much about it without getting deported for it.

Raleigh might not have mentally aged past five years old. He was currently all right with that.

Chuck rolled his eyes. "No one's impugning your marksmanship, my love."

Okay, that had a little different ring to it than just "love" did, but all the women aww-ed, so he let it slide. Grudgingly.

"But everyone in this room knows you're far too honest a bloke to know how to cheat those cheating carnie bastards at their own games."

This time, it was the men raising a hearty cheer. Ugh. The misogyny was strong in this crowd.

Indeed, Mako rolled her eyes, though her mouth twisted on a wry grin.

"Anyway, looking worse by the minute, the poor sod tried to carry on, but I could tell he was about to drop, so I stopped us at one of those shooter stalls, yeah?"

Raleigh's eyes narrowed. "I wasn't that bad off."

Chuck gave the fascinated crowd one of those looks, and everyone chuckled.

"Hey!"

"Anyway, I leaned him up against the counter and asked the skeevy rotter behind it what I'd have to do to win the big Transformer-looking robot at the back."

Good grief. Chuck and his not-so-secret thing for robots.

"And that wanker said I had to knock back all seven of those little metal people in the tiny little box at the back of the stall. Any of you ever tried that one?" Murmurs of assent. "The back of the box is so shallow that even if you get a headshot, they just knock off it and spring forward, weighted at the bottom to always bring them back to center."

One guy actually shook his fist at the ceiling, much to the crowd's amusement.

"But you _can_ get 'round it if you know the trick."

Ah, so that's where the wordy bastard was going with this. This was Hansen's superhero origin story. Raleigh wanted to grumble, but he couldn't really complain. He'd gone completely blank, and Chuck was at least making it an entertaining story.

Then, the ginger bastard grinned sheepishly. "Unfortunately, I don't know the goddamn trick, and I blew thirty dollars trying to win that damn robot whilst Raleigh just got paler and paler."

His eyes widened, and he was suddenly very proud of his fake fiancé. Chuck wasn't good with surprises and unexpected things -- which was, perhaps, the world's worst understatement ever -- but he had handled most of this mess with surprising grace and a minimum of biting.

More importantly, Mako was finally fully absorbed in the story, as if she hadn't expected such altruism, either. He had worried about her most. She was not an easy person to fool. And he hadn't wanted to try, though he really had no choice.

"Finally, I decided the poor sod needed to sit down out of the sun, so I gave up and found us a table on the seaward side of the park. I hoped the fresh breeze would perk him up a bit, yeah?"

Chuck eyed him with what looked like genuine fondness, and Raleigh couldn't help but return that look. He had no idea what his boss was up to, but... that was an easy look to return, somehow.

"But when I came back from getting him a lemonade, the wanker wasn't there." Those grey-blue eyes dropped to his shoes, and Chuck shoved his hands into his trouser pockets, heedless of the destruction to the neat lines of his casual suit. "You can probably tell from my hair that I have a bit of a temper--" He paused for a round of chuckles from the crowd. "--so I'll admit I went a bit nuclear. I'd only been gone a few minutes, yeah?

He shook his head and speared Raleigh with a look both amused and annoyed. Raleigh had no idea how to respond. This was actually a damn good story, and he kinda wanted to know what happened next.

"I looked for this big bastard for an hour before I finally found him... _at the same bloody table where I'd left him_. He was sat there, pretty as you please, with that bloody great robot standing on the table in front of him, looking like the world's biggest, naughtiest child hoping he wouldn't get caught."

More chuckles, and Raleigh couldn't stop himself from blushing and rubbing the back of his neck. Because yeah. He knew better than anyone exactly how he looked when he didn't want to get caught.

"Well, because I'm me, I tore into him. I mean, I ripped this poor bloke up one side and down the other about how I'd been terrified I'd find him choking on his own vomit under a dock somewhere and how big an assh-- er... how big a jerk he was for scaring the hell out of me like that." He blushed a bit at his slip but soldiered on. "And Raleigh? He just took it."

Mako looked at him and nodded, and Raleigh could only nod back. He was surprised Chuck knew him well enough to know that, yeah, he _would_ have just taken the reaming. Admittedly, Raleigh had taken dozens of reamings from Chuck over the years, but those had been business rants, not personal ones. This was... different.

More importantly, plenty of people in the crowd were also nodding. Chuck had the whole room in the palm of his hand.

Except Raleigh's father, of course. A single glance at the brooding expression on his dad's face was enough to sour his enjoyment of Chuck's success.

"And when I was done ripping him a new orifice --" Most of these chuckles were masculine. "--he just pointed at that stupid robot and smiled. I sat down and glared at it. So he says, 'I hope you don't mind. I was gonna get you a ring, but I spent damn near everything I had winning this, instead.' "

Raleigh heard honest to God gasps, and several women put their hands to their hearts. And just like that, the good feelings were back, and he gave Chuck a wry grin, even as Chuck slipped him a wink.

"C'est beau, chéri¹." His mother sounded near tears. "I had no idea you were so romantic."

"Right?" Chuck shook his head, looking down at his shoes again. "I felt like a right twat-- er... sorry. Like a jerk."

Raleigh grinned. He was used to the occasional salty Australian drop-in, but it was oddly amusing to watch Chuck try to censor his usual language. "That's okay, hon. You said yes, so that's all that matters."

The crowd burst into applause, and Raleigh was proud of himself for a full ten seconds. Until someone in the back said, "A story like that should end with a kiss!"

And everyone in the audience -- except his dad, of course -- agreed. Loudly. _Repeatedly_.

Chuck paled, fighting to hold his grin. Raleigh felt himself pale, too. At least he'd sort of suspected something like this would come up. It wasn't that much different from the little peck on the temple he'd done earlier, right? Lips didn't have to make it weird.

So, trying not to look like he was going to the gallows among the "Kiss him! Kiss him!" chants, he stood up off the loveseat's arm and stepped across the suddenly too-short distance between them. He offered his hand, and after a quick glance to make sure it was okay, Chuck took it. Remembering how Chuck had charmed his mother earlier with a courtly kiss to the knuckles, he suddenly grinned. Maybe he could get away with it, too.

Waggling his eyebrows, he lifted his boss's hand to his mouth and kissed his knuckles. Chuck struggled to hold his expression.

"No, no, no!" Okay, whoever that asshole in the back was, he was hereby blacklisted from all future Becket family gatherings. "You did the romance thing; now we wanna see some tongue!"

Chuck blinked. "Jesus."

Raleigh shook his head. "I swear I don't know that guy."

"But Raleigh, please do give your charming amour a kiss for us?" Oh, great. Now his mother was in on it. "I would very much like a picture of you two at your best."

A picture. Great. This just kept getting better.

Worse, Chuck looked almost hunted. After their little talk earlier in the kitchen, Raleigh thought he knew why. His fake fiancé knew he wasn't gay now, so Chuck probably worried that every little intimacy might be weird.

But his boss had stepped in and delivered one hell of a proposal story, so Raleigh figured initiating the dreaded kiss was the least he could do. Plus, maybe it'd put the poor guy at ease, knowing that Raleigh wasn't completely disgusted at the idea. Just... not into it.

So he tugged his fiancé closer and leaned in. They were basically the same height, and the eye contact was suddenly almost overwhelming. Embarrassed, Raleigh closed his eyes and did the deed.

It was awkward. At first. Then, Chuck tilted his head a bit and it... wasn't awkward anymore. It was a kiss. Chuck's lips weren't as soft as a woman's, but they weren't hard or weird, either. Warm. His cologne still smelled good, even after a half day's work, a seven hour flight, and enough emotional turmoil for a Mexican soap opera.

Raleigh took in a sudden breath, his lips parting a little, and Chuck pressed in a little more, and this kiss was....

Over. Just like that. Chuck pulled away until their noses brushed. Raleigh opened his eyes, but his now-officially-announced fiancé hadn't opened his yet, and he couldn't help but notice how long those auburn lashes were as they laid against lightly freckled skin.

Applause sounded, and he jerked away, glad that Chuck did, too. At least he hadn't offended. Because it turned out that... yeah.

Lips made it weird.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¹ - That's beautiful, darling.


	15. Chapter 15

Chuck wasn't sure he could take many more changes. The upheaval had gone beyond epic at this point. The disapproving ex-alky father was bad enough, but now there was an apparently bi-polar local who was intent on feeding him green peppers and what could only be an ex of some sort who Raleigh still looked at with complete adoration.

And a kiss. A kiss that should have been weird but had instead been....

"Here we are, garçons¹." Dominique gestured through an open rough-hewn wooden door. "I am so sorry the party ran so late. You two must be worn to the flinders, yes?"

Oh, absolutely yes. Chuck felt like if he sat down, he would instantly be asleep for the next three years. Might be the best thing for him, at this rate.

But he stepped through the door after Raleigh, then stopped and frankly goggled. This place really was a mansion, and this room was like something out of a good living magazine. Spacious and panelled with the same polished but rough-hewn wood as the door, it looked like a master suite. All his ridiculous luggage barely took up a fraction of the floor space, even with a king-sized bed, pantry-sized wardrobe, several hardwood bookcases stuffed with books of all shapes and sizes, and a little seating area in front of an honest to God fireplace. Complete with a crackling fire.

The colors were tasteful, deep shades of green and brown with an occasional splash of rust accent. It was... elegant.

"Oi, Dominique." Shaking his head, he gestured at the whole room. "This is... lovely." The word was pitifully inadequate, but she seemed pleased with it. "Where's Raleigh's room, then?"

He didn't want to accidentally walk in on the bloke whilst looking for the loo in the middle of the night.

"This _is_ my room."

_Oh, bugger._

Dominique and Marguerite both chuckled, but it was the mum who spoke. "Chuck, you are adorable. You two are consenting adults, yes? We are under no impression that you do not sleep together."

The tips of his ears burned, and he shot Becket a careful glance. The poor sod just closed his eyes and shook his head. Clearly, he was done for the day, too.

"Well, uh...." He cleared his throat. "That's good, then, 'cause... yeah. We like to cuddle. Was gonna miss that."

Good God. He'd only had the one glass of champagne right after the announcement, right?

Luckily, Raleigh just rolled with it. "All about the cuddling."

Jesus, they wouldn't actually have to--

He went to sit on the corner of the enormous bed, only to leap away at a furious hiss right behind him. He spun around to see what had scared the shite right out of him, just in time to receive a million tiny daggers in his chest.

"What the bloody fu--"

"Pardon, pardon!" Dominique came forward and gently tugged at the small, furry alien creature that had attached itself to his shirt and first three layers of skin. "Chuck, I am so sorry. This is Coquette. She is a stray we picked up from the pound so she would not be put to sleep."

"Aw!"

Of course, Raleigh thought the savage little murder beast was adorable. The moron was engaged to him, after all.

The unearthly hissing and spitting noises stopped when those big hands relieved Dominique of said murder beast, and the fluff of angry grey fur resolved itself into a simple kitten. Chuck didn't buy that shit for a second. That was an alien shapeshifter. No kitten had claws that deadly.

If the little dropkick had ruined his two-hundred dollar shirt....

Raleigh said something in French to the alien spawn, and it vibrated into content purrs, rubbing its floofy grey head into his chin.

Un-fucking-believable.

Although he _could_ stand to hear a bit more of Raleigh's low murmuring in French. He... uh... had never heard anything quite like it. His mum's and grandmum's little French drop-ins sounded quaint and charming, but Becket sounded....

Speaking of the grandmum, Raleigh's Mamie made tutting noises. "Please do not let her out, though. She is too young to be... how do you say...?"

Raleigh raised his eyebrows, a puppy gently scritching a kitten behind the ears. "Fixed?"

"Yes, that. Also, she is so small the eagles would snatch her."

Chuck blinked. "Jesus, Mamie. How big are the bloody eagles?"

She gave him an odd look, and he realized he'd just called her Raleigh's name for her. He started to take it back, but she only tilted her head and turned away without correcting him. Did that mean it was okay? Mamie was certainly easier to say than Marguerite, and after a single so-called conversation with Raleigh's asshole of a father calling him Charlie the whole time, he refused to even think of calling her Maggie.

She didn't leave the room, though. Instead, she went to the enormous wardrobe and opened one set of doors to rummage around inside. When she found what she wanted, she brought it back with her -- a large, folded quilt -- and smiled, offering it over to Chuck, since Raleigh's hands were full.

"If you boys become cold in the night, use this." Her smile became... wicked. "It has capacités spéciales. Er... special powers."

Whilst Dominique tutted, smiling, Chuck looked down at the quilt in his hands. Done in the same greens and oranges and browns as the rest of the decor, the pieces looked handstitched, and the whole was probably worth a bloody fortune. He couldn't make out the design because it was folded too small, but the needlework was intricate, even just in the corner he could see. He ran his fingers over the silky feel of it and the raised texture of the embroidery. It was beautiful.

"Right, then. What... uh, special powers?"

Mamie's smile was now officially a smirk. "I call it le bébé fabricant."

He startled when Raleigh sputtered and squawked, "Mamie!"

"What? What's it mean?"

Dominique blushed delicately, high on her cheekbones. Like everything else about her, it was lovely and charming. "The... er... baby-maker."

He damn near dropped the obvious piece of witchcraft. Instead, he all but flung it at Raleigh, who quickly passed the kitten demon over to Dominique so the spawn of the Devil wouldn't hit the floor.

Blushing himself, Becket sort of held the quilt out a bit from his body. "Guess we'll have to be careful with this one. It shouldn't matter with us, but I've read weirder stuff and will take no chances."

Chuck might actually pass out if any more blood rushed into his face. Thankfully, Dominique took pity on him and urged Mamie toward the door.

"Well, mes chéris, it is very late, so we shall leave you. There are more towels in the armoire. Good night."

Mamie turned at the door to give him one last wink, and he put a hand over his eyes.

"G'night, ladies." When the door shut behind them, he sank wearily down onto the bed. "Oi, Ray, how do we do this?"

He saw the faint irritation at the return of the shortened name, but Chuck had been good all evening. And if Raleigh wanted to snark back by calling him Charlie, he wouldn't even protest. He was too damn tired.

Apparently, Becket was all fought out, too, because he only slumped. "You take the bed. I'll take the floor."

That didn't really sound fair, but.... "Oi, what's wrong with that loveseat thing over there?"

"Too short. It's good for kicking your feet up to read, but terrible for laying down and sleeping. Trust me."

He really should offer to take the floor, but... God, he was just so tired. He wanted nothing more than to fall into his own mattress and wrap up in his own blankets.

Besides, Raleigh didn't really give him a choice. "You get settled while I take a shower, okay? The hot water is from one of those instant heat wall units, so you can go right after me."

"Yeah, mate. Take your time."

Although he hoped the bloke wouldn't, because it'd be just that much longer before Chuck could pass out. Worse, it suddenly struck him that, for all his luggage, he hadn't packed anything to sleep in. He slept alone, so he didn't bother with such niceties as pajamas, and he'd expected to be tucked away in a tiny little hotel in his own room.

He'd just have to make do with boxer briefs and hope Becket didn't get his straight sensibilities offended. The bloke had a body that spoke of hours at the gym, so he was surely used to seeing other blokes in shorts or even less.

So he pawed through his rolly duffel whilst he waited for the shower, idly debating what to wear tomorrow. Everything he'd brought seemed entirely too dressy for such a casual lot. For all that they were clearly rich as Croesus, the Beckets didn't dress the part. Even Richard the Dick had been in a cardigan and jeans.

Hell, even the mayor bloke wore heavy workboots and had pulled on a plain navy blue peacoat on the way out the door.

Business casual would just have to do. He was editor in chief, after all, and it wasn't a secret. If anyone looked at it amiss, he'd set them straight.

The bathroom door opened in a cloud of steam, and a damp, scruffy-haired Becket strolled out in flannel pants and a t-shirt that was probably supposed to be loose when the bloke was dry.

Holy shit. How had he never noticed the bloke was a god in the flesh? He was in the deepest shit imaginable.

Shaking off his astonishment whilst Becket unfolded the possessed quilt -- it turned out the pattern was a huge and intricate tree with entwining branches and hundreds of hand-embroidered leaves -- only to refold it in half lengthwise and lay it on the floor, Chuck fled into the steamy-hot bathroom, closed the door behind him, then leaned against it. This was a nightmare. Raleigh had specifically said he wasn't gay, wasn't even bi. It hadn't seemed like a big deal at the time, other than that the poor bloke was having to come out for a lie.

It... seemed like a big deal now. Becket wouldn't appreciate how much Chuck suddenly wanted to count every single abdominal muscle with his fingers. And maybe his tongue, just to be sure of the tally.

This was a complication he did not need.

Didn't matter. This was a business deal, plain and simple. Yeah, he could admit that the bloke was a prime piece of gorgeous, but in the long run, that meant nothing but some nice scenery for the next three years.

Determined, he shoved away from the door and stripped, folding his clothes neatly and only tangentially caring that the bathroom's muggy heat would steam creases into them. It had been too long and trying a day for such trifling concerns.

A hot shower did wonders for the tension he'd been carrying around all day, and he stepped out into the steam feeling much less twisted. He didn't even care that he only had a pair of boxer briefs to sleep in. He just wanted to sleep.

However, he did pause at the door with his clothes clutched to his still-damp chest. Whilst he'd told himself earlier that Becket had probably seen a hundred blokes in their skivvies at the gym, it suddenly seemed... awkward. It shouldn't. Nothing had changed but Chuck's attention.

But he should at least give the bloke a heads-up so the poor sod could look away, just in case. So, he cracked the door open, letting in a cooler current of air and letting out a puff of steam.

"Oi, Ray."

"Yeah, Charlie?"

Okay, he'd earned that. Whatever. "So... funny story... but I thought I'd be in my own room at a hotel, so I didn't actually bring anything but my skivvies to sleep in."

Silence.

"That gonna be a problem?"

"It might. It can get chilly once the fire dies down."

Chuck thunked his head against the door. That was so not what he meant. Raleigh wasn't usually Captain Oblivious.

He heard shuffling and peered out to see Becket crawling out from under a pile of blankets on the floor. Sighing, he shoved out into the room and cursed that it actually was a bit chillier than he expected.

Fucking Alaska.

"Oi, mate, you didn't have to get up. I was just--" He cut off when Becket shuffled over to his own bag and rummaged around. "What're you doing?"

The bloke turned around and offered a pile of plaid and grey, sleepy eyed and with his hair sticking up in a mess. Chuck blinked stupidly at the offered jumble, then reached for it. Flannel pajama pants. Grey t-shirt. Thick grey socks.

Wearing. Becket's. Clothes.

He had to get his mind away from how the thought resonated in his head. Forcing a smirk, he quickly shrugged into the shirt. "Are we already to this point in our relationship, sweetheart?"

Becket snorted. "I think we're way past clothes sharing, pookie."

The shirt smelled like dryer sheets and Raleigh. The pants felt like warm comfort. Even the socks felt softer and warmer than anything of his own. What the hell did Becket put in the wash to make his clothes feel so damn nice?

"That one's a swing and a miss, love."

"Hey, at least I keep trying." The bloke crouched down to crawl back into his blanket pallet. "Also, I already lowered the shades because the sun only goes down for a couple of hours this time of year, but if you get up before me, the remote's on the cedar chest at the foot of the bed."

He hadn't noticed that it suddenly looked like night outside, though he'd definitely noticed that the sun hadn't seemed to move down any as the evening wore on. He'd just been too tired to make anything of the information, and now he didn't have to.

Still, though. Fuck Alaska.

Except... he was comfortable in Becket's amazing pajamas, snuggled up in a warm nest of heavy covers on the most cozy mattress he'd ever slept in -- including his own, which was loads firmer -- and the crackling of the fire was oddly soothing, like an ambient noise generator that also happened to put out warmth.

Yawning, he squirmed a bit, just to settle perfectly. Maybe Alaska wasn't so bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¹ - boys


	16. FRIDAY

His phone was ringing.

Chuck grunted, reaching for the nightstand and only finding more bed. He usually migrated over to the right in his sleep to be ready for the alarm in the morning, but... he must have been too tired to move. He didn't remember doing anything strenuous--

Immigration. Becket. Engagement. Alaska.

And his phone was still ringing. _Thank you very much-o, Mr. Roboto, for helping me escape just when I needed to! Thank you! Thank you thank--_

Jerking up in bed, he realized he hadn't so much as rolled over all night long -- assuming it was morning, an assumption he wasn't willing to make when the sun didn't set or rise at a reasonable time -- and that he had no memory of what he'd done with his cell phone. He hadn't dared keep it on him during the party for fear of obsessively checking it. Where the hell did he put it?

"Ray."

It stopped ringing, then started right back up again. Dammit, that meant it was important.

_Thank you very much-o, Mr. Roboto, for doing the job nobody wants to--_

"Ray! Where is it?"

Because if anyone had watched Chuck put something as important as his phone away, it was Becket. Why the hell wasn't the bastard helping him?

_I wanna thank you! Please thank you! Ooooooohhhh! Yeeeeaaaaaaah!_

"Goddammit, Raleigh, where is my bloody phone??"

Becket growled from the floor. "Carry-on! Side pocket! Jesus, Chuck!"

Stumbling out of the covers that seemed determined to keep him in the warm, comfortable bed, he grabbed for his carry-on and hauled out his phone, cursing when he saw the name on the screen. And the two, no one, no two bars of service.

"Mr. Hansen? I need... about the con--... not sure it's the best... so can you...?"

"Oi, Beacham?" He pulled the phone away to see if the bars had gone up. They hadn't. "Travis? You there, mate? I can barely hear you."

"...Hansen? I can't... the hell are you?"

"Oi, sorry, mate." He tried to get to the other side of the bed in hopes of better reception toward the windows and got caught up in the goddamn tentacle nest of blankets again. "Jesus, what the -- sorry! I've got terrible reception here, mate. Gimme just a--"

Becket threw a pillow at him, pegging him in the back of the head. "Oh, my God! Chuck!"

Growling and throwing the pillow back -- his aim suffered due to having one leg still tangled in the suddenly sentient Bed of Doom -- Chuck held the phone closer to the big balcony windows and cursed again. One lousy bar.

"Travis? Oi, if you can hear me, stay on the line. I'm gonna go outside, okay?"

He hauled his leg free, debated stuffing his feet down into Becket's boots, then settled for snagging the thick, cableknit jumper the bloke had apparently set out to wear today. It was a dark ivory cream and felt like a hug when he shrugged it on over Becket's t-shirt. He'd surely find a spare pair of Wellingtons downstairs. None of the shoes he'd brought would go on over the cushy socks that were obviously made for boots, and he refused to take them off. He liked his feet exactly as warm as they were right now.

As he made his way downstairs, he kept whispering assurances into his phone, hoping like hell Beacham could hear him. If the bloke was questioning the Netflix deal, the contract stated that either party could end the deal free of penalty for any reason during the first thirty days.

Chuck sincerely hoped that wasn't the case.

To his satisfaction, there were indeed a line of rubber boots just outside the doorway out back, and he stomped into a pair on the way down the back stoop's steps. He had no idea if people locked their doors on private islands or not, but he wasn't taking any chances. That fucker was staying open. It was chilly and damp as hell out here.

"Can you hear me now, mate?"

Beacham sounded amused, thank God. "Well enough to tell you you sound like a commercial."

It was too early for amusement, but he forced it anyway. "Good to know. So what can I do for you, Travis?"

The bloke's amusement faded. "I just... I know we decided on Netflix because they've been really good about exploring non-traditional characters and they wouldn't likely try to force a male hero in over my female heroine, but this contract still gives them way too much creative control."

They'd already talked about this. Pinching the bridge of his nose and wishing he'd thought to look for some sunglasses, he started walking slowly around the house. His hands were cold, though his core was nice and toasty under its layers of Becket's clothes.

"It does give them a certain amount of control, yes, but Travis, remember: I wrote in a clause that gives you veto power over any decision the company makes." He shoved his free hand into a flannel pocket to warm it up. "You might have to butt heads with the execs a bit, but... mate, they can't ruin anything. Your words are on the page. They can't change that, and they can't do anything with those characters that you don't approve of."

Beacham sighed. "I know. And I appreciate the clause and that you fought for it. I just... these aren't just characters to me, Mr. Hansen. They're like my children, and I can't help being protective of them."

Jesus, it was too early and he was too stranded on a fucking island for this shit. And the goddamn murder beast kitten had apparently followed him outside and was stalking him in the grass. It was currently crouched down, its little grey arse twitching as it stared at him with eyes that had seen Hell.

Pointing at it, he tried to focus on the same old argument. "And you should be, mate. They're great characters. It's a bloody brilliant idea, and people who read have already told you that a few million times over, yeah?" The kitten crept closer. "Oi, fuck off."

"Excuse me?"

He blushed, tearing his attention away from the hellspawn stalking him. "Sorry! Not you, Travis. I was just... never mind. I was saying that people who read have already seen your brilliance, but don't you want to share it with the billions of people who don't? Have you seen the numbers for the new Netflix series, mate? You could reach a bloody horde of new fans."

"That... yeah, that does sound... good...."

Smirking a bit, he pointed at the kitten again -- he'd caught movement at the corner of his eye -- and strolled further around to the front of the house. It was incredibly quiet out here. Just the rustle of a light breeze, the hush of the waves on the rocks, and the distant cry of some kind of bird.

"It does, doesn't it? People who otherwise would never know about selkies and their mysteries. Who have never been introduced to the concept of Teslapunk. Who don't--"

That cry wasn't so distant. And it sounded... intent.

Frowning and losing his train of thought, he glanced up and saw a frankly enormous bird sail overhead, its wingspan creating a shadow like a private plane over the grass.

The grass the kitten was stalking through.

Bloody fuck, was that a goddamn eagle?

"Travis, mate, I gotta go, but I want you to really think about keeping the contract just the way it is. You have the final say, after all. And I really think--"

Jesus, it was like a World War II fighter jet on a bomb run, watching that shadow sweep over the grass toward what wasn't really a demon spawn but a helpless kitten playing in the garden.

"Shit, Travis, I'll ring you back later! Bye!"

He hung up without waiting for confirmation and ran for the stupid kitten, but the eagle beat him to it, snatching the little puffball into the air with another piercing cry.

"Oi, let that little bastard go, you overgrown oystercatcher!"

He had no weapon but the one in his hand, and he didn't have time to think about the motion. The eagle would be out of range if he hesitated. So, he hauled back and threw the fuck out of his phone.

It wasn't illegal to knock out an eagle with a cell phone in this state, was it? Because his phone pegged that fucker in the throat, and it squawked indignantly and dropped the kitten.

"Shit, shit, _shit!_ "

Running full-out in oversized Wellingtons on a damp lawn was a good way to break something, but he did it anyway. Thankfully, the eagle hadn't gone up too far, so Chuck was able to snatch the bothersome little hellspawn kitten out of the air and cuddle it to his chest without hurting it. Of course, it immediately applied its claws, but Becket's jumper was too thick for them to penetrate.

"Ha! Take that, ya little demon!"

Unfortunately, he looked up just in time to see the goddamn eagle swoop down again and scoop something shiny up out of the grass.

His phone.

"Oi! Give that back, you fucking klepto!"

Now, the only thing he had to throw was the kitten. He seriously considered it for longer than could be good for his character, then decided to just offer it up as bait instead.

Peeling its dagger-fingers out of the dense cableknit of the jumper, he ignored the immediate damage to his hands as he held the little bastard up and shook it at the sky.

"Breakfast is ready, you wanker! Come and get it! All you can eat, mate!"

Thus, Chuck Hansen realized he was the kind of person who would risk a kitten for his cell phone. And at the moment, with the little fucker yowling and tearing wounds in his hands, he was perfectly fine with that.


	17. Chapter 17

It was too damn early to be up after going to bed so late and tossing most of the night, but Raleigh couldn't have gone back to sleep after Chuck's early morning rain dance if he'd wanted to. Clearly, that had been some sort of business call, so his assistance would probably be needed at some point. Just because he was on vacation didn't mean his boss wouldn't want him to work.

Not that he'd had a vacation in the past three years. At this point, he'd saved up a solid month's worth of time and was only glad that Shattered allowed its employees to roll over their hours into the next year's total, rather than limiting them to a certain amount, whether they took it or not.

Stretching out the kinks from sleeping on the floor, he reached for the clothes he'd laid out and... his sweater was gone. Where the... had Chuck knocked it off the pile in his blundering around?

But a bleary inspection of the floor around and under the bed turned up nothing, and... maybe he hadn't set it out in the first place. Though his jeans were right there, as was the thermal henley he'd planned to wear under the sweater. And his boxer briefs. And his socks.

Just in case, he dug around in his duffel, but came up empty. Huh. Shrugging, he pulled out a navy blue sweater instead. This one wasn't as heavy a knit as the other one, but it'd have to do. His maman would love it. She always made over him when he wore blue.

Finally clothed with teeth and hair brushed and a quick shave, he stepped into his boots, tied them up snugly, and headed out in hopes of finding Chuck before the work piled up too high. And, just maybe, in hopes of some breakfast. Mamie made the best madeleines, and Raleigh hadn't indulged his fix in ages.

Instead, he found his maman and Mamie standing at one of the living room's bay windows, sipping tea and... giggling? Honestly giggling, like a pair of schoolgirls.

What the...?

"Good morning, Maman, Mamie." He stepped closer, arms spread in preparation for hugs. "Have either of you seen... oh."

There he was. And there was Raleigh's sweater. Apparently, letting Chuck borrow his spare pajamas meant the ginger bastard felt free to borrow _anything_.

Including... was that the new cat? Why was Chuck running around the lawn, waving the kitten around like a victory dance?

Blinking, he shook his head. "I'll just... yeah. Go out there."

Mamie patted him on the arm. "I thought he did not like Coquette, but you see? He just takes the warming up, yes?"

_You have no idea, Mamie._

But he grinned because, as bizarre as the whole set-up looked, it was actually funny as hell to watch his big bad boss tearing ass around the yard in rubber boots, flannel pants, and an oversize sweater, doing God knows what with a kitten that seemed hellbent on getting the best hold allowed by claws. He started away, and his maman called after him.

"Mon fils, please tell your charming amour that we have a surprise for him in town this afternoon. We will not intrude on your morning while we make the arrangements, but if you could spare him after lunch?"

Oh, hell. He had no idea what his ladies had planned, but he didn't envy Chuck one bit. There wasn't _that_ much to do in Sitka, after all, and the things that might be considered entertainment around here would probably bore the everloving shit out of a guy like Mr. Charles Hansen, owner of a million dollar apartment in Manhattan.

Plus, it sounded like it was up to Raleigh to make breakfast. He wondered if French toast would be too on-the-nose.

And that was neither here nor there. Right now, he had a prancing Chuck and a squalling kitten to deal with. He decided the direct approach was best.

"What are you doing?"

Chuck turned to him and gave him a look of such hopeful relief that Raleigh almost felt appreciated for once. Whatever the problem was, his boss clearly thought he could solve it.

"Mamie was too fucking right, mate! A goddamn eagle went all predator on the bloody little hellspawn and snatched it right out of the grass. I beaned it with my phone so it dropped the cat, but then the fucker picked up my phone and made off with it."

He blinked. "Okay, I don't think I can blame this one on jetlag. Are you drunk? Already? It's not even six o'clock yet."

The gratefully hopeful look evaporated into the usual scowl. "Oi, I'm serious as a heart attack! That fucker has my cell phone, and I need to bloody well call Beacham back because he's having second thoughts about the goddamn contract, and I'm not sure I got him back on board before I had to throw the damn thing!"

Chuck didn't realize it, but the second he stopped trying to offer up the kitten to the sky gods, or whatever he thought he was doing, he'd cuddled the little fluffball up to his chest and was thoughtlessly stroking its fur. The kitten seemed content enough, which was a shock, considering Chuck's hands were actually bleeding from all the scratches it had inflicted.

Hiding a grin, he decided that even Chuck couldn't make up a story that ridiculous and at least some of it must be true. And, given how distressed he was about the loss of his phone, that part, he believed.

"Okay, calm down." His lips twitched, but he forced a neutral expression. "I'll order you another one, same make and model with the same number, and we can probably get it in by tomorrow morning. Will that do?"

And the relief surged back, and Raleigh shifted awkwardly, uncomfortable with such obvious -- if wordless -- praise from his boss. Chuck Hansen expected things to be done right, so there was no point in expressing approval for just doing what was expected. This, though, looked an awful lot like gratitude.

Or maybe Raleigh was just getting better at understanding Chuck's moods outside the work environment.

"Oi, Ray, you're a bloody lifesaver." He bent down to release the kitten, which shot toward the house in a grey streak. "I could kiss you, mate."

Blushing and hoping it only felt like he was blushing, Raleigh huffed a chuckle. "Yeah, gonna have to pass. We already did that, and I'm not sure you brushed your teeth yet."

"Oi!"

He shot a glance at the bay window and wondered if his maman and Mamie were still watching. The sunlight glared off the windows, making it hard to see inside.

"Actually, I'm supposed to tell you Maman and Mamie have a surprise for you this afternoon. They have to go out for a while, but after lunch, they're taking you into town."

Chuck's relatively tranquil expression soured. "You know I hate surprises."

He sighed. "I know. Sorry, but they're determined to make the most of this whole thing."

The stubbled jaw tightened. "What kind of surprise is it?"

"I don't know." When Chuck scoffed, he put up his hands. "I swear. They didn't say. There's honestly not that much to do here, so you're probably safe enough."

Scowling now, Chuck crossed his arms over his chest, and Raleigh abruptly decided that his sweater actually looked better on Chuck than on him. The ivory cream complemented his coloring, and where the fit tended to be comfortably loose on Raleigh, it clung snugly to Chuck's broader shoulders and chest. It helped that the ginger hair stuck up all over from the adventure outside, which took some of the asshole out of that familiar face and made him look approachable. Younger. Less rigid and imposing.

He made a point to forget to ask for the sweater back.

"Who'll be driving the boat?"

Oh. He got it, now. Chuck hadn't been kidding about not liking boats, and Raleigh couldn't help but feel bad that he'd effectively marooned the poor guy on an island surrounded by one of the few things he truly feared.

So he grinned softly. "If you want, I'll do it. I can chill out with a book on the boat while you and the ladies do your thing."

Chuck looked tempted. Chuck looked _really_ tempted. "They didn't say anything about you coming with us, did they?"

He wanted to say they wouldn't mind -- for all he knew, they wouldn't -- but he had to be honest. "They just said the surprise was for you. That they needed to borrow you this afternoon."

The poor guy sighed, slumping. "Which means you're not invited. Bloody hell."

He fidgeted, then stepped closer. "If it helps, Maman taught me everything I know about boating."

For a second, he thought Chuck would snap at him. Ginger eyebrows drew together in the start of the epic frown that meant trouble for anyone within shouting distance. But, yet again, Chuck surprised him.

"Yeah, mate. It... it does." He shifted his weight, then scruffed a hand through his bedhead. "I just... look, don't laugh, but... would you buckle me into a life jacket before we go?"

He started to point out that his maman was perfectly capable of doing so, but Chuck looked... vulnerable. He wasn't used to his imposing, cast iron asshole of a boss looking vulnerable.

"I can do that." He quirked a crooked grin. "Maybe give you another for-show kiss to send you on your way."

His prickly fiancé rolled his eyes but didn't protest, which meant he probably agreed that such a gesture would be expected, if not necessary. Which reminded him--

"On that note, just so you know, Maman and Mamie are probably still watching us from the window over there, and they probably think we're fighting, since you still look a little tense. We should probably hug or something so they don't ask any questions."

Chuck's eyes flicked to the window, though his head didn't turn that way. "Sorry, mate. I didn't mean to... I just...."

"I know." Oddly enough, he _did_ know. And he understood. "If you don't want to, it's okay. We'll just say you're stressed about a work thing."

"No, no, you're right. Just... you're sure you don't mind?"

Right. He'd forgotten that Chuck was treating him with kid gloves now that he knew. Rolling his eyes, he opened his arms. Chuck snorted and stepped into the hug, fitting his forehead against Raleigh's neck, just under his jaw. It was probably to hide his embarrassment, but it felt... nice. Cozy, even, and far less awkward than it should have, considering how often Raleigh used to wish his boss would get by a taxi, just hard enough to give him a week or so of peace at the office.

"Oi, you want I should grab your ass, too? Just to complete the illusion?"

Snorting, he reached down and poked at the exposed ribs, then laughed as Chuck jerked away with a squawk.

"Don't push your luck, pumpkin." He grinned and socked his boss fiancé on the shoulder. "Never piss off the people who make your food."

One ginger eyebrow shot up. "Who's making food?" He waggled his eyebrows, and Chuck snorted incredulously. "Since when do you cook?"

Scoffing, he offered his hand and headed toward the house when Chuck took it. "I'm French, dumbass."

"That explains nothing, smartass." Kicking out of the rubber boots just outside the door, Chuck eyed him while he only thoroughly scuffed his on the over-deep, stiff pile of the entry mat. "I'm Australian, but you don't see me swigging Foster's and throwin' another shrimp on the barbie, eh?"

He shot him an amused glance on the way to the kitchen. "Do Australians really do that?"

"Fuck no. Foster's tastes like piss and no one barbeques shimp except maybe on a skewer." But he frowned a bit. "At least, they didn't ten years ago. It's been a bit since I've been there."

He was tempted to ask. Chuck had asked him things about himself, after all. But... this sounded like a touchy subject, and while they were more relaxed around each other, he wasn't sure they were quite _there_ yet.

Instead, he settled his scruffy fiancé at the breakfast bar with a cup of coffee -- cream and sugar only; this wasn't a fucking Starbucks -- and some damp paper towels to deal with the scratches on his hands, then dug out French toast ingredients.

"So...." Chuck sounded hesitant and awkward. "Do you bake, too, or just cook?"

Okay, that was a subject-changer if he'd ever heard one. Which wasn't surprising, as he'd suspected Chuck wouldn't want to talk about why he hadn't been to his native continent for a decade.

"Mamie was always the baker. I just picked up a few things here and there. And, seriously, who can live on take-out in New York?"

"Ahem."

He glanced back over his shoulder and found Chuck giving him an unimpressed look. Smirking, he shook his head. "Why am I not surprised."

"Oi, I can cook a few things. Just don't see the point when any kind of food I could want is right there for the ordering."

They nattered and low-level bickered while the French toast cooked, and Raleigh was surprised to realize... he was enjoying himself. In barely more than a day, he'd gone from dreading most of the time he spent with his boss to verbally sparring over the merits of Indian food over Thai food and agreeing that Szechuan was the food of the gods.

All while Chuck sat there in Raleigh's clothes and sock feet with both his stubble and his messy hair glinting red-gold in the sunlight streaming in from the window. It was... surreal... but the good kind of surreal. Nothing he could have dreamed would happen, but also not an outcome he would argue with.

Maybe the next three years wouldn't be a nightmare after all.

And when he sprinkled powdered sugar and cinnamon over his creation and slid the first plate across to his adorably bitching fiancé, he couldn't help but anticipate the response.

"Oi, what the fuck _is_ this, Becket? Why would you ruin perfectly good toast by putting egg on it?"

Well... not every hit went out of the park.


	18. Chapter 18

The morning wasn't terrible. Once he was able to shower and shave and change into his own slacks -- though he absolutely kept the jumper, and Becket didn't argue, so he figured it was okay -- he felt more able to face the world. It probably helped that his surprising fiancé had introduced him to French toast. After he got over his snorting amusement at the name, he discovered that coating perfectly good toast with egg and cinnamon was perhaps the best invention in human history.

His assistant even let him use his phone to check in with Gottleib, just to make sure the bloke was aware that Beacham was waffling on the contract but hadn't backed out just yet and that Chuck was currently without a phone but should have a replacement in the morning. Thanks to his resourceful fiancé, who never seemed to lose his cool, even when flustered or angry.

But now it was afternoon, and whilst he'd appreciated Becket buckling him into the life vest -- and had definitely appreciated the promised kiss on the forehead that went a lot farther toward calming his nerves than the life vest had -- he couldn't help but wish he'd insisted on dragging the bloke along with him for this surprise thing. He really did hate surprises, and whilst he didn't think Mamie and Dominique would do anything mean-spirited, he just... he wanted to know, okay?

It was so much easier to school his expression when he knew what was about to jump out at him.

Thus, when Dominique paused at the rough, wooden door of what looked like a seedy tavern -- an odd choice for such an otherwise posh, tidy little town -- and Mamie took him by the arm and winked up at him, he felt his nerves crawl with dread. Taking a deep breath, which provided him with a comforting whiff of Raleigh thanks to the jumper, he rolled his shoulders and prepared for the worst.

They went in, and... it was just a pub. Nicer than it looked from the outside, which shouldn't be a surprise for such a picturesque little village. And filled to the brim with newly familiar faces from the party yesterday.

Oh, bugger all. Was this...?

A cheer went up, and confetti appeared in the air like magic. It was.

It was a bachelor party. Thrown by all women, it looked like.

Oi, was he the girl? Bloody hell. He'd have to take Raleigh's head off his shoulders for letting his mum and _the whole goddamn town_ think he was the skirt in the relationship. Or that there bloody well had to be one, for that matter.

No, wait. There were a few blokes in the back, but they looked a bit ashamed to be there and had likely only showed under threat of no sex for a month. Blushing and miserable, he shot them a pleading look, only to receive a sad beer salute in return.

No help there.

Trying his best to look pleasant when he'd rather be tied to the goddamn truck and dragged naked down the main street of town, he sat where Dominique put him and didn't protest when Mamie crowded in on one side whilst Dominique glued herself to his other. Worse still, Miss Mori -- who was clearly some sort of ex of Raleigh's -- sat at the same table, nursing some kind of Japanese beer, which made sense because she was clearly of Japanese descent. He wanted to ask her story, but he was pretty sure that would be weird. Given that he was Raleigh's false fiancé.

He didn't protest when the waiter brought over a tray full of bottles and shooters. In fact, he slugged back a shot without being asked to, then chased it back with nearly half a bottle of what turned out to be a nice pale ale instead of a shitty American beer. Odd that a shitty pub in such a tiny, isolated town would have such a variety to choose from.

Then again, now that he really thought about it, this particular town seemed unusually diverse. Giant Russians, a Japanese girl, a black British military bloke -- the mayor, no less -- Raleigh's French maternal side, that annoying little Chinese bi-polar bastard--

"And now, the moment you've all been waiting for!"

Who the hell even said that? He didn't see anyone with a microphone.

The lights went out except for one spotlight which circled around a few times before settling on the area over the bar. Now that he looked, he realized it was curtained off, rather than a solid front. What the--

"That's right, ladies and gentlemen! Please give a big hand for... the Crimson Typhoon!"

The curtain swept back to reveal...

_Oh, shit._

That was a shirtless, bowtied Wei Cheung sprawled out sideways in the little crawlspace, and as he stared coolly out at the crowd, the opening beats of _Uptown Funk_ started up and the crowd went wild.

Jesus Christ. The little Chinese prick who seemed determined to fuck with him was a goddamn stripper, too? This... was a nightmare.

Wei snagged the tasseled rope that hung down the side of his little cubbyhole and swung down -- surprisingly gracefully, considering how little room he had to get out of there. Once on the stage, he started....

Chuck snickered but tried to hide it. The bloke wasn't actually dancing in his little bowtie and tearaway trousers. Unless he missed his guess, Wei was showing off a bit of judo. No, wait; that bit was jiu jitsu. Set to music, of course, but still.

A kung fu stripper. Just... bloody great. He fucking hated this town.

The women all cat-called and whistled, but when Chuck craned around to see if the blokes were having a laugh, they appeared to be engrossed in a card game of some sort and were determinedly not looking at the stage.

_I'm too hot! Hot damn! Call the poe-leece or the fire-man--_

Raleigh owed him _huge_ for this. Yeah, he wouldn't be in this position if he wasn't trying to avoid deportation, but seriously? Having to sit here and watch the asshole who'd disrespected him, then shoved a green pepper in his face run through katas set to a shitty dance tune?

_Not cool, Becket. Not cool._

Then, the wanker started gesturing at him. No bloody way. He was not stepping up on that stage. Nothing would induce him to--

"Go on, bel homme." Mamie nudged at his arm. "This is your party, yes? You are the guest of honor."

_Shiiiiiiiiiiit._

Grumbling under his breath at cast iron little bird women who shouldn't be trusted with such politeness power, he grudgingly climbed up onto the stage, though he did everything in his power to not come into contact with Wei, who had switched over to capoeira, now that he had someone to move around. Blushing and hoping the spotlight washed the color out, he perched awkwardly on the little stool set up for him and reminded himself that he didn't want to be stuck in Australia for a year.

At which point, Wei whipped off his tearaway trousers, revealing his tiny little spandex mankini, much to the enjoyment of the gathered throng. Except the blokes in the back, of course. God, Chuck wished he was back there. He was a fucking shark at poker. He could be fleecing a fortune off those bastards instead of trying to keep Wei's swaying ass out of his even his peripheral vision.

Smirking, Wei presented his ass unavoidably close, and the crowd started shouting, "Smack him! Smack him!", Mamie leading the charge. Bloody hell, was this what they thought sexually open men wanted? Some random bloke's ass to smack?

No, more likely, this was the standard script for bachelorette parties in these godforsaken parts, and he was holding up the next line of the play. Jesus. Maybe if he just got it over with....

Trying not to think of Raleigh because it suddenly felt incredibly disloyal, even though they weren't really in a relationship, he hesitantly reached out and backhanded the ass cheek presented to him. It was the lightest smack he thought he could get away with, and, though Wei shook a finger at him and rubbed the spot as if he'd really decked him, Mamie and Dominique laughingly waved him down from the stage.

God, he'd never been so grateful to get out of a situation in his life. Awkward as fuck.

The song mercifully ended as he shotgunned down his pale ale, and he grabbed another as he gestured toward the door and made the universal sign for "I need a smoke", even though he didn't actually smoke. He just needed some air that didn't smell like horny women and Wei's weird coconut body oil that drowned out the comforting scent of Raleigh he hoped still lingered in the knit of his jumper.

Mamie nodded and waved him away -- not without a hint of concern in those sharp little bird of prey eyes -- so he made his escape and practically thundered out the door, ale in hand. Once free, he gulped in a breath of fresh air, then moved down the boardwalk a ways to lean on the railing overlooking the bay. He usually hated the sight of open water, but right now, it looked like freedom. He wished Becket was here to bundle him up in a life vest and take him back to the island where it was quiet, like it had been all morning.

He sighed as the door opened behind him, letting out a louder wash of terrible club music that quieted as the door closed again. He didn't bother looking to see who it was. If it was just a random patron, they wouldn't bother him, and if it was someone looking for him, well... he was pretty damn hard to miss.

After a few moments, he couldn't hide a startle as Miss Mori leaned on the railing to his right. He hadn't heard her coming.

God, he hoped he didn't offend her or anything.

"How are you holding up?" She had a quiet, modulated voice that put him instantly at ease. It probably helped that she looked faintly sympathetic, but not pitying. "I notice that you don't actually smoke."

He huffed something that wasn't quite a laugh. "I just needed some air, is all. Miss Mori, right?"

She tilted her head first one way, then the other. "If you allow me to call you Chuck, I suppose you can call me Mako."

Well, that was easy enough. "Deal."

She smiled a bit, and though it was only a small movement of her mouth, it warmed her whole face. "The Beckets can be a little overwhelming, can't they?"

This huff was much closer to a laugh. "You can say that again."

Nodding, she looked out over the bay. "They're just excited. Raleigh doesn't make it home very often, and... well, they are glad to see him happy. It's been a long time coming."

A large part of him went still and watchful. He tried not to let it show. "So... you two are pretty close?"

She continued to look at the water, but he sensed she was suddenly choosing her words very carefully. "I moved here when I was eight years old. My parents died in an earthquake in Tokyo. Sensei adopted me, but he already had a life here, so here is where I came to live."

"I'm sorry to hear that." He was. It sounded too close to what had happened to him.

"Thank you. It sounds strange, I suppose, but Sensei was a volunteer rescue worker sent overseas to help sort through the rubble."

He shot her a look. "Sensei?"

Her eyes lowered for a moment. "You met him, I believe. Stacker Pentecost?"

"Bloody hell." He blushed at her sharp glance. "Sorry, just... you're the mayor's adopted daughter?"

"Did Raleigh not tell you?"

He blinked. "Honestly, we've had other things on our plates. It didn't come up, I suppose."

Nodding thoughtfully, she accepted this reasoning and moved on. "Anyway, he found me two days after the earthquake, trapped in a dumpster under a pile of rubble. I had no other family, so when he came back to the States, he adopted me and brought me with him." She turned slightly and fixed him with an intent stare. "Raleigh Becket was the first person to even talk to me, the weird new Japanese girl, in school. He was also the person to take the blame when I punched a boy for trying to look up my skirt while I was on the monkey bars."

A snort escaped him. It was oh, such a Raleigh thing to do. And he suspected Mako still had no trouble defending herself.

Her severe expression softened. "We were friends from that moment on. Until high school." She shrugged and looked back out over the ocean. "We were so close that everyone expected... things. Everyone was so sure that _we_ became sure. We dated, but I don't think we really knew what that meant."

Her eyes were keen when she looked at him again, watching him for signs that he knew any of this. He didn't, and he didn't care to pretend. This woman was important to Raleigh, and Chuck had no intention of messing up whatever they had. He just needed three of Raleigh's years. Something told him Mako Mori had more than earned the rest.

"When Raleigh went to college, I still had two more years of high school, so I suggested he date other people. He did, but I don't think his heart was in it." She frowned suddenly, the expression as minimal as all her other ones but no less potent for that. "He has... had so many hard things...."

She went quiet, but Chuck didn't prompt her. Raleigh hadn't told him any of this, and he didn't feel comfortable asking about them from a third party. Especially one so important to him. Mako would tell or not tell, as she decided.

"Just... things came to a head, and he made a sudden trip home in the middle of the night during his second year to...." Her eyes flicked to his, then flicked away again. "To ask me to marry him. To run away to New York."

Ah. He should have suspected. It even made sense. He'd seen how just the sound of her voice had calmed the bloke, returned him to his center.

He couldn't even be jealous. He usually just riled the poor sod up.

But his brain had already done the math, so he tried to sound neutral when he posited a theory. "You said no."

She swallowed hard and nodded. "I said no. I wasn't ready, and he was asking from... a bad place. So he transferred to NYU to finish his degree and, as far as I know, has only been back once since then, after graduation."

Frowning, he fiddled with the bottle in his hands. Becket had only been working for him for three years and had been hired right out of university. That meant the bloke had only been home once in the past five years.

This was all sounding too bloody familiar.

"It was... something with his dad, yeah?"

He wasn't sure he had the right to ask, but he couldn't help himself. The question just popped out. When the silence dragged out, he shot her a glance, then caught her questioning expression.

He figured it was safe enough to go with the truth. "He doesn't talk about it. His dad. This place. I... try not to ask."

Eyes intent, she stepped closer -- not quite in his bubble, but verging on the edge of it. "Raleigh is very special to me, Chuck. I don't love him like you love him, but I _do_ love him. I want him to be happy."

He swallowed hard.

"Will you make him happy?"

Would he? _Could_ he? Was he capable of making another human being happy, because he hadn't done a bloody great job of that before and was no longer sure such a thing was possible.

Again, he could only go with the truth. "I honestly don't know." He shrugged. "I can promise to try."

She studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "I think you will." Finally, she softened enough for that small, warm smile. "I think you are better for him than you give yourself credit for, Chuck."

Not thinking of the motion, he ran his hand down the front of the jumper, idly tracing his fingers over the cableknit design. "Think you might have that the wrong way 'round, Mori."

She chuckled and finished her beer. "Perhaps we are both right. Perhaps you are good for each other."

Grinning a little, he shrugged. He had no idea what to say to something like that.

The door opened behind them, and they both turned to look. It was only a little group of women, hooting and enjoying themselves but clearly leaving the party. Mako shook hear head.

"Sounds like Crimson Typhoon is wrapping up. You coming back in?"

He winced. "Sorry, I think I'm about Crimson Typhooned out."

Her laugh was a musical thing, and he was suddenly proud of himself for prizing it out of her. She was a good sort, not jealous of him and Becket and not trying to insinuate herself in where he might not welcome her. Not that he'd stand in her way. He still thought that, if Becket wanted something with her, he would gladly step out of the way once the divorce was final.

But for now, she tipped her empty bottle at him and went back inside, leaving him alone at the rail but smiling this time. Yes, the party winding down meant he was about to get back on the goddamn boat again, but two separate boat trips had removed some of the horror for him. He thought that, some day, he might even forego the life vest.

Someday. But not today.


	19. Chapter 19

Raleigh hoped Chuck was having a good time. Raleigh, unfortunately, was not. His maman had hesitantly told him that his father was on the other side of the island, working on his golf swing, and wanted to talk to him.

He could ignore the summons, of course, but ignoring the entire situation for all these years hadn't done a damn bit of good, so he might as well see what the old man wanted.

That didn't mean, however, that he had to get there fast. Instead of taking the skiff around the shore or dragging out one of the four-wheelers, he hiked through the timber, taking his time and filling his lungs with that good, piney-ocean smell. He'd missed it. He hadn't even realized how much.

By his guess, he'd made his old man wait a solid hour by the time Raleigh stepped out from the ring of trees guarding the rocky shore on the windward side of the island. Richard Becket had always used this beach to practice his golf swing, which was stupid, considering the wind tended to be the roughest here.

But no one had ever accused Richard Becket of making good decisions.

Squaring his shoulders -- absurdly reminding himself of Chuck preparing for just about any human interaction -- he picked his way over the rocks to the clearer area his father had dubbed his driving range.

"Dad?"

Richard glanced up and nodded, then went back to lining up his shot. He'd set up a wire basket on one of the crags, out an easy two hundred fifty yards. At the moment, there weren't too many golf balls in the basket.

Rough morning, then. Or just an impatient wait for the prodigal son to do his duty.

This particular shot fell short, but Richard didn't seem particularly bothered. "Your mother found these biodegradable balls that dissolve in water. I asked her if it was a commentary on my golf prowess, and she just gave me that little smile of hers. You know the one."

He did know, and the image brought a reluctant grin to his face that he ducked his head to hide.

"She didn't give me that smile when she told me I'd been less than welcoming yesterday." Fidgeting with the clubs in the bag leaning against a handy boulder, Richard sighed. "I can't say it sat very well to see you hanging all over a man, let alone the man you've had nothing good to say about all these years--"

Raleigh felt everything in him stiffening in defense.

"--but she reminded me that, no matter your choices, you _are_ my son, and... I love you. And I'm... sorry."

Okay, he didn't expect that. At all. Surprised when his father offered a hand to shake, Raleigh actually took it. "Accepted. Thank you."

Richard nodded, then shoved his hands in his pockets, looking out at his target. "I've been thinking a lot lately. About the future."

The very thing Raleigh always tried _not_ to think about. Almost as deliberately as he tried not to think about the past.

"Going over my papers. My last will and testament and the like."

Uh-oh. This was going exactly where he'd dreaded.

Shooting him a complex look, Richard shrugged. "Your mother and I have practically built an empire here -- your mother more than me, honestly -- and... it doesn't mean anything without someone to leave it to, does it?"

And there it was. He couldn't help himself. "And here we go."

"I'm serious, son. I know you had to do your own thing in New York for a while, but it's time to stop all this rebellious nonsense and come home. You have _responsibilities_ here. You have expectations."

Mako, again. Would Richard ever stop using her against him? He clenched his jaw. She had already made her choice, and privately, he agreed. He loved her, but he suspected that love was more like the family he should have than the great romance his father had always wished for with the mayor's daughter.

But he was so tired of this same old conversation. Almost as tired as he was of avoiding it. "You know what, Dad? I'm sorry." His shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry I'm not the son you wanted. I'm sorry that was taken from you and you're stuck with me instead."

God, those words hurt. They tore something loose inside him, but... maybe it was time to rip open that old wound and wash it out. Maybe it would finally heal if he did.

"I'm sorry I got Yancy killed, okay? And I'm sorry I want to help bring the world literature and daydreams instead of owning a small town in Alaska that reminds me of everything I've lost. And most of all, I'm sorry I fell in love with a man, so I can't even give you grandkids who could stand in my place because I'm such a failure of a son. Okay? Is that what you want to hear?"

The last part came out as easily as the first did, and Raleigh was a little proud of himself, even though he'd just ripped out his own heart and thrown it on the ground. It ought to sound good if Chau ever got around to interrogating his father.

"Raleigh, that's not what I--"

"So you know what, Dad? Apology not accepted. You didn't mean it anyway, because you can't apologize to a failure."

Not waiting for a response, he turned and walked away, trudging back into the timber because he knew his father would never follow that way. Richard Becket wasn't the hiking sort. Never had been.

Unfortunately, the walk didn't calm him this time. The scents of pine and loam and briny ocean were too sharp, needling in his brain and speeding his steps until he was almost running. And then actually running. He needed to burn off this energy, this... _feeling_ inside him. Raw and stinging like an exposed nerve.

He didn't dare go into the house. If he ran into his mother or, God forbid, Chuck right now, he didn't know what he'd do. He needed mindless activity.

He needed....

Gritting his jaw and clenching his fists, he headed for the barn to drag out his old project.


	20. Chapter 20

Dominique didn't say a word as she buckled Chuck into the life jacket, just gave him a little smile when the tips of his ears blushed. She really was a kind woman and had done nothing but make him feel welcome. And, for all her sharp looks, so had Mamie, who sat beside him in the boat and prattled on as a distraction, half in French, as Dominique drove them back to the island with the same ease Raleigh showed at the helm.

Of course, most of Mamie's rattle was about Crimson Typhoon's chest, abs, and thighs, but at this point, he wasn't too picky. He wanted to get back to Raleigh's quiet, soothing room and think about everything Mako had said. More, what she'd hinted at.

_He has... had so many hard things...._

It sounded on repeat in his mind, making him reevaluate everything he'd ever thought about his assistant. About Raleigh, who always seemed to have his head on straight, even in the face of a tyrannical boss's rants and demands. Raleigh, who adapted so easily to any situation -- even if he was initially thrown into that confused puppy look -- and never seemed to lose his ability to be rational and come up with a plan of action.

Raleigh, who had been so quiet about every aspect of his past, not only because Chuck had never asked -- although he hadn't; he'd been too wrapped up in his own life and career and keeping things on the schedule that made things comfortable for him -- but because Raleigh clearly wouldn't... or maybe _couldn't_... talk about it.

As they clambered out of the boat and Chuck unbuckled himself, Mamie chuckled.

"I think our lovely Typhoon has... how do you say... the hots for you, Chuck."

Blushing, he rolled his eyes. For such a tiny little thing, she had an awfully salty charm. He started to retort -- gently, of course; he'd grown quite fond of Raleigh's maternals -- then caught movement over Mamie's head and lost what he was about to say.

Was... was that Raleigh?

Because for a man who tended to just grit his jaw and endure even the worst things thrown at him, Raleigh looked like a battle-rager in full attack mode. Even from this distance, Chuck saw the naked fury on those usually genial features as the bloke hacked at a huge piece of partially hollowed-out log, and he couldn't help but shiver at the intensity laid bare.

"What's he doing, then?" His voice was strengthless. That wasn't exactly what he wanted to ask -- what would bring the Raleigh he thought he knew to such violent, even dangerous rage? -- but it was the best he could do in his sick surprise.

Mamie said something soft in French. Dominique looked stricken and dismayed, but she reached out and wound her arm around Chuck's.

"It is best to... let him work it out. He doesn't...." She sighed. "Come along, chéri. We cannot help him right now."

He didn't want to go, but Mamie rested her tiny hand in the crook of his other elbow, and the ladies gently but firmly escorted him over the zig-zagging boardwalk and up the garden to the other side of the house. Once there, Dominique and Mamie exchanged a look, after which Mamie gave Chuck a pat on the arm and went her own way.

Dominique, hearing the television in an interior room, seemed to forget all about Chuck, her delicate features hardening into a strength he recognized from Raleigh's more familiar face. Without a word, she walked way, leaving Chuck standing awkwardly in the entryway, debating whether or not he should take off his shoes. They hadn't gotten dirty, and Raleigh tended to keep his boots on in the house, so....

Biting at his lower lip, he edged his way further into the house, hoping he could get close enough to maybe figure out a little of what was happening with Raleigh. He wasn't eavesdropping for himself, though. Anything that could throw Becket that far off his stride was something Chuck needed to know, if for no other reason than avoiding the topic to prevent future upset.

"Richard, what have you done?"

Okay, that was blunt. He edged closer to the doorway and put his back to the wall beside it.

"What?"

"Ton fils is out there hollowing out that stupid canoe. Must I remind you, mon amour, of the last time he did so?"

A heavy sigh. "Are you gonna speak French for this conversation, Dee? Because I don't think I'm up for being bilingual today."

What a dick. Chuck shook his head.

Dominique's voice hardened, much as her features had. "Oh, no, my darling. I will speak very clearly in the English for you. I wouldn't want you to claim misunderstanding later. What. Did. You. Do?"

Oh, he liked her. Like this, she reminded him of his own mum.

Unfortunately, when Dick spoke again, his voice was subdued instead of defiant and arrogant. "I didn't mean to, okay?"

"Didn't mean to what, Richard? Please, you tell me."

"I just wanted to talk to him about coming home and seeing to his responsibilities. I... might have also mentioned certain expectations--"

"Richard!"

"I know! Okay? I didn't... he and Mako are just so well-suited--"

"Non! How many times must I tell you that Raleigh has made his decision! If you would only speak to Chuck, you would see that he is a very charming man who is trying to do his best for our son, but non! You bring up an old flame that--"

"I said I know!" Another heavy sigh. "That's not the worst of it."

Silence. Weighty, potent silence.

He leaned closer to the door, then caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Oh, bloody hell. The demon spawn kitten had found him and was stalking him again, this time from the top of a china cabinet.

How the fuck did it even get up there? He so did not have time for this.

"He... Dee, he called himself a failure and... he brought up... Yancy."

Dominique gasped softly, as if someone had stabbed her with an ice pick right in the lung, and Chuck edged closer still. Who was Yancy? And why would Raleigh consider himself a failure? What the hell was happening here?

The kitten let out a little rumbling growl, and he pointed at it and glared until it ducked down a bit.

"Oh, Raleigh, my poor boy...."

"I swear, Dee. I didn't bring him up." Dick sounded almost as devastated as Dominique did. It was perhaps the first time Chuck felt anything but disdain for the bloke. "I didn't know he still felt... I've never blamed him. _No one_ ever blamed him but himself."

_For what, goddammit?_

The kitten hissed again and wiggled its little grey arse, and Chuck glared as he tried to quietly shush it. The little bastard only bared its teeth.

"Richard, you must fix this. What if he never comes home again?" She sounded near tears. "What if they adopt children and we never get to hold them and love them and buy them too many Christmas presents and... and... _Richard_...."

Suddenly, the kitten gave up hissing and straight up yowled at him in preparation for a leap, and Chuck backed away, heading for the stairs. He'd probably heard more than he should have, anyway. He just... didn't know what to make of any of it.

He needed to think. He needed to figure out why this seemed so important to him. If he had any right to know if it didn't affect his spurious marriage to his assistant.

If he could live with knowing a bloke as good and solid as Raleigh blamed himself for something painful and devastating. That he'd been hiding that self-blame for all these years and putting up a good front in a city full of strangers who would never know what went on behind the bright blue eyes and puppy expressions.

He needed... to wash off the pub's funk and the lingering stink of coconut and just smell Raleigh again. Whether it was the one familiar thing in a sea of new things or if something about the bloke himself was calming, Chuck had grown used to breathing in that comforting scent and settling himself.

It had only been a day. Not even a day. Just overnight.

Unsettled, he headed straight for the shower, shedding his clothes once he'd shut the bathroom door behind him and turning the water on a touch too hot. He scrubbed with more energy than science, his mind fixated on the visceral picture of Raleigh attacking that log with sheer desperate fury. Even loathing.

... _Self_ -loathing?

Chuck could well understand that -- he'd done his own share -- but what could drive _Raleigh_ to it? He couldn't imagine such a good-hearted, loyal bloke doing anything bad enough to end up loathing himself for it. He just couldn't.

Unfortunately, in his distraction, he'd forgotten the most elementary part of taking a shower -- drying off afterward. He and Raleigh both had tossed their towels into the hamper in the other room the night before, and now, all he saw was an unused washcloth hanging on a ring next to the sink.

Just. Great. He didn't even have a fresh set of clothes. He could use his clothes from earlier, but he'd just washed off the pub funk and had no intention of rubbing it right back on.

Where had Dominique said the towels were?

Ah-hah! The armoire. He just had to nip out of the bathroom and grab--

The door opened in the next room. Raleigh? Was he back? Perfect timing, if the bloke could be distracted into actually handing him a towel before telling him what was wrong.

"Ray? That you out there?" Oh, right. The bloke tended not to answer to his little nickname. "Raleigh?"

Still no answer. Huh. Must not have actually been him, then. Maybe it hadn't even been this room.

Grumbling, he crept over to the loo's door and cracked it open, immediately shivering as the heated steam rushed out. Jesus, did someone leave a window open or something?

The armoire was open. His wandering gaze focused. He could see the towels from here, all fluffy and warm on their shelves. Five steps, and he'd have one. Maybe eight steps.

Nervously covering his junk with his hand, even though the room was empty, he opened the door further and started out only to squawk and twist aside as the goddamn demon cat kamikazed at him from the top of the goddamn armoire. How the fuck did it keep getting up onto things??

Whatever. It sailed past him and landed on the plush bathroom rug and immediately turned to re-attack. Acting fast, Chuck reached out, snagged the door, and slammed it shut.

"Ha! Take that, hellspawn!"

He walked backward a few steps to better taunt the stupid cat, then turned around to grab a towel only to run into a slightly damp brick wall. It moved against him with a grunt, and he realized... oh... oh, no... oh, _shit_ \--

He had just run facefirst into a naked, sweaty Raleigh Becket whilst he, himself, was naked and wet.

"Oi, what the fuck--"

"Chuck, what the... why--"

Like a catastrophe in slow motion, Raleigh toppled over backward, hands hovering uncertainly over Chuck's back, and Chuck could only hang on for dear life until they collapsed to the floor in a damp, twisted heap. He didn't settle, though. The second he could dig his knees into the carpet for purchase, he was up off his naked assistant like a shot, trying like hell to hide everything whilst he crawled for cover.

_"WHY ARE YOU FUCKING NAKED??"_

Becket hollered right back. _"WHY ARE YOU FUCKING WET??"_

He made the awful mistake of looking back to make his retort, only to get an eyeful of... just... _everything_.

"Jesus, mate, cover up for the love of God!"

"I don't understand! Why are you wet? Chuck, what the--"

He reached Raleigh's pallet of blankets on the floor and snatched one up, only to realize it was the goddamn baby-maker and throw it aside. Unfortunately, that had him looking for something else and catching another awe-inspiring but horrifically embarrassing view of Raleigh's bare ass as he bent to frantically dig in the armoire for a towel to wrap himself up in.

_Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and all the saints, I'm not even Catholic but there have to be prayers about a body that goddamn gorgeous--_

"RALEIGH BECKET, COVER YOUR ARSE! _YOU'RE SHOWING EVERY-FUCKING-THING!_ "

Scrabbling, the bloke finally tugged on something strung around his neck, popping two earbuds free even as his other hand found a towel and shook it loose. Chuck scrambled for one of the thermal blankets on the bed and got it around him, wrapping himself up like a burrito and blushing so hard he was already sweating with the heat.

Of embarrassment. Please, God, let it just be embarrassment making him sweat.

Finally getting at least the lower half of that goddamn glorious body under wraps, Raleigh spun and glared at him, every part of him flexing and flushed with both exertion and mortification. He was....

"What the hell just happened, Chuck?"

"Where the hell did you even come from?" He clutched the blanket around him even tighter.

"Hey, I'm not the one jumping on people when they're naked and wet!"

He snorted. "Really, Becket? Because that's _exactly_ what you just did!"

The bloke opened his mouth to rant on, then caught himself and snapped his mouth shut. And suddenly, Chuck hated to see that. He used to appreciate that Raleigh would just shut up and take whatever was thrown at him, but suddenly... it sat badly with him. As if maybe Raleigh thought he deserved to be ranted at. Or at least didn't deserve to defend himself.

So instead of going off even further, Chuck -- perhaps for the first time ever -- stole a page from Raleigh's script and reined himself in. "Look, I'm sorry, mate. I was washing off some pub funk and forgot a towel, yeah?"

Surprised and narrow-eyed, as if he expected this olive branch to be some sort of trick, Becket fidgeted with where he'd tucked the towel at his waist. Unfortunately, the move drew Chuck's attention to the definition of the obliques and the killer cut of his iliac furrow and, God, those abs--

He jerked his attention away, forcing his eyes up to meet Becket's conflicted, complex expression.

"Okay," the bloke finally said, his shoulders relaxing a bit. "Okay. I was... cooling off out on the balcony. I didn't know you were back yet. I just...." Blushing now, he gestured at the earbuds still dangling around his sweaty neck. "I didn't hear anything until... boom. There you were. Armful of naked guy."

Blushing, he released his death grip on the blanket just enough to let in a whiff of cooler air. "I might have also been gloating because the goddamn cat missed ripping me to ribbons on its way by."

Raleigh blinked, his lips twitching as if he was thinking about being amused but wasn't quite there yet. "What is it with you and that kitten?"

"It's the spawn of the devil!"

The bloke snorted. "Then you and it should get along, right? After all, like calls to like."

"Oi!" But he wasn't annoyed. At all. In fact, he was greatly relieved to hear the bloke cracking wise again instead of just mindlessly hacking away at an impossible task. "Go get a shower, yeah? You stink."

He didn't. At all. In fact, Chuck kind of wanted to stick his face in the crook of that sweaty neck and just breathe in for an hour or so.

Even the goddamn cat would never claw that admission out of him, though.

Instead, he stood up from his crouch, holding onto the blanket but no longer gripping it like he'd die without it. "So... how about we just chalk this up to an incredibly fucking awkward thing we're never gonna talk about again, yeah?"

Becket grinned and ducked his head, blushing over his cheekbones and at the tips of his ears. It was fucking adorable. Dammit.

Though, now that he really looked, the bloke looked a little worse for wear. His left shoulder and chest bore some pretty heavy scarring. It looked like it had fucking hurt at the time.

Blinking, he made himself look away. Becket might be sensitive about it, though at the moment, a snarl of scars seemed the least of his worries.

"Sounds like a plan. I'll just--"

He gestured at the door, then opened it. The kitten shot out the widening crack, yowling and making a furry grey streak to the room's other door.

Vindicated, Chuck pointed. "Ha! See? Exactly! That's exactly my problem with that little hellspawn!"

Raleigh rolled his eyes. "Yeah, Chuck. I barely made it out with my life. We'll call that one a Category Five, okay?"

Still not annoyed but trying to look that way for form's sake, he stood up straight and sucked his teeth. "How 'bout that shower, mate?"

"How about you get dressed, sweetcheeks?"

His eyes narrowed.

As the door closed behind the bloke, he tossed back one last taunt. "And I'm not talking about your face, boss."

The door closed with finality, and Chuck found himself blushing, overheated all over again, and willing his body not to respond to either state. Raleigh Fucking Becket was a goddamn menace.

But, thankfully, he was a smiling, snarky menace again. Chuck guessed that made it okay.

He also guessed the taunt meant Raleigh wouldn't mind if Chuck stole another jumper.


	21. Chapter 21

Dinner was... difficult. After okaying it with Chuck, Raleigh crept downstairs to just throw together some sandwiches for them to eat in his room, but his maman caught him in the act and protested. Gently, but definitely.

But he still hadn't agreed until Maman let slip that his father would be in town dealing with some difficult accounting at the grocery store. He should be away for a few hours, at least. And she had made his favorite onion soup. And Mamie had baked fresh baguettes to toast with cheese and herbs to serve with it.

So he went back upstairs to explain the situation to Chuck, who -- perhaps not so surprisingly -- was perfectly fine with dinner with his mother and grandmother. He guessed that Chuck, who had lost his mother at such a young age, missed being fussed over. He could understand that.

And it was probably for the best. If he'd succeeded in just making sandwiches, he'd be curled up on his old loveseat in front of the fire, pretending to read but really thinking about Yancy and hating himself more with every second. The only thing that had kept his guilt at bay all these years was living fully in the present and not thinking about the past at all. Which meant not thinking about the future, either, since it was a future Yancy would never have. That Raleigh had stolen from him and didn't even want.

As it was, when his mind wandered during the mouthwatering onion soup, Chuck brought him back by asking him to elaborate on a story where Chuck had, perhaps inevitably, blown his stack, and Raleigh had just grinned and borne it. Oddly enough, it was a true story and probably hadn't been as amusing when it had happened. The ginger jerk just had a way of telling it that made it funny instead of infuriating.

And when his mind wandered again during his maman's famous roasted cod with a succulent, buttery wine and herb sauce -- it was Yancy's favorite, and he had no doubt that was an intentional choice on his mother's part -- Chuck again brought him back with a nudge and a dimpled grin, insisting it was his turn to tell about that time Chuck had ordered weekend take-out without checking Raleigh's delivery blacklist and they both ended up with food poisoning but had to muscle through it because revisions didn't wait for crippling stomach cramps and fire-hose diarrhea.

Mamie laughed until she choked on her baguette.

They finished with warm-from-the-oven sage croissants and cups of tea, and Chuck slumped back in his chair, rubbing his stomach and complaining with a grin that he'd never been so full. Raleigh hadn't eaten so well in years, himself, but he'd tried to pace himself, well aware that when his ladies were in the mood to treat, they treated until it hurt.

He knew what they were doing, of course. Richard must have talked. Or, more likely, Maman must have demanded an explanation.

But it still felt awkward because he knew everyone was trying so hard to cheer him up, and he just... couldn't. He could fake it, like he was faking his whole engagement, but he couldn't let go of the guilt his father had stirred back up. It wasn't even just his asshole dad. This whole town screamed of memories, and he'd done his best to avoid those memories in hopes of building something of a life for himself.

And now... it felt like the whole house of cards was collapsing. Not because of Chuck and the whole sham relationship. Just because, as usual, Raleigh was failing.

Suddenly, Chuck let out a ridiculously overdone yawn, stretching enough to bare a strip of belly under Raleigh's chocolate brown sweater that he'd stolen. With that much luggage, surely the guy had sweaters of his own, but no.

"Oi, ladies, this has been a bloody great meal, but I'm about to fall asleep in my chair."

Mamie smirked. "Oh? It has nothing to do with the... how do you say... lap dance this afternoon?"

Raleigh barked an incredulous laugh even as Chuck choked and sat up straight, blushing.

"Oi! Strip tease, not lap dance! There's a difference, Mamie."

Finally fully paying attention, Raleigh shot him a narrow eyed look. "Oh, so the second I let you out of my sight, you're running around, getting lap dances and watching strip teases with my mother and my grandmother?"

Blushing further, Chuck crossed his arms and sulked. It wasn't anything like his sulk back in New York. This sulk was... fucking adorable. Again with that.

"Anything sounds bad when you say it like that, you wanker."

He laughed again. "Is there any other way to say it?"

Mamie chuckled, proud of herself and completely unashamed. "I do so adore a lovers' quarrel. It adds the spice, does it not, my darlings?"

"Oi, Mamie, we don't need any added spice, yeah?"

Raleigh snorted. "Speak for yourself, miel. For me, the thrill is already gone. I think the attraction was all about the secrecy, and now that the secret's out, I'm bored of you. Sorry, pumpkin." He sighed, ignoring the snickers and Chuck's unimpressed glare. "But I think it's time we see other people."

Narrowing his eyes, Chuck suddenly smirked. "Right, then. So, Dominique, you got plans for tomorrow? I seem to have an opening in my schedule."

"Hey!" Impressed by the size of the ginger bastard's balls, Raleigh couldn't help but laugh. "That's my mother!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, love. Am I making you jealous?"

But his mother was blushing, Mamie was highly entertained, and Chuck grinned smugly, proud of himself, and Raleigh couldn't help but shake his head and smile. Yes, he'd known Chuck was a savvy businessman who could easily take charge of either an entire boardroom or a one-on-one contract negotiation over lunch, but he'd never seen his boss make it his personal quest to smooth over an awkward evening with a close-knit group. He was... oddly proud. And impressed.

And grateful.

Unfortunately, by the time they dragged themselves upstairs, their over-full stomachs protesting such a strenuous activity, a storm had moved into the area. Raleigh didn't like storms. They didn't bother him so much in New York because the sound wasn't the same, but here?

As if almost every other part of this day hadn't been determined to remind him of things he didn't dare think about, now there was a storm.

Buzzing with nervous energy as the thunder moved closer and the wind picked up, he changed into his warm pajamas while Chuck did the same -- literally the same, as they were still Raleigh's pajamas -- and brushed his teeth in the bathroom. He wanted to tell himself he was just fidgety waiting for his turn to take a leak and brush his teeth before bed, but....

Lightning flashed over the water, and Raleigh snatched up the remote and lowered the shades, his heart racing in his chest. He needed a distraction. He needed to already be asleep.

Chuck brushed by him with a quiet murmur about the bathroom being all his, and he fled inside, closing the door and leaning his forehead against it. He didn't want to be here anymore. He'd just wanted to get through this weekend with a minimum of property damage, but from almost the first moment he stepped on the island, he'd been borderline overwhelmed by what it all meant.

A fake marriage seemed like small potatoes compared to his little father-son chat out on the beach and the shitstorm it had stirred up in side him. He'd tentatively opened the wound in hopes of healing it, but instead, he'd ripped open a poison sack and was drowning in the sludge.

But of all people, Chuck had been the most supportive, and while it shocked the hell out of him, Raleigh couldn't help but admit that he was oh, so grateful for it. He'd never expected his boss from hell to be so firmly in his corner.

Unfortunately, Chuck was probably only in his corner because he didn't know the full, ugly truth. It was probably just a sense of obligation. Tit for tat. Raleigh was coming through for him with the whole prevent-getting-deported thing, so Chuck would have his back with his family.

Would that change if everything came oozing out? As it seemed to be doing, no matter how hard Raleigh tried to hold it back?

Feeling all twisted up inside, he brushed his teeth, took the required leak, washed his hands, then just stared in the mirror for a while. He had dark circles under his eyes from not sleeping well the night before. He couldn't even blame it on sleeping on the floor because he hadn't actually done much sleeping. His mind hadn't shut up enough to let him.

He was dismally afraid the same thing would happen tonight. Hopefully, Chuck would sleep through again and not notice. How could Raleigh explain?

Sighing, he shoved away from the sink and the mirror and went back to his own room, shutting the light off behind him. With only the firelight flickering, the stuttery flashes of lightning outside seemed both brighter and more imminent, even with the shades down. It didn't help that the thunder followed closer still, indicating the storm was still headed their way.

He crawled under the pile of covers, whacking his elbow off the slightly padded floor and smothering a curse as he tried to get comfortable. He just... couldn't. Couldn't settle. Couldn't toss and turn without drawing too much attention. God, he just wanted to--

"So... uh... I like DragonBall Z." Chuck cleared his throat and shifted restlessly. "Not in a 'gosh, isn't that cheesy anime from the eighties ridiculous' kind of way. I actually genuinely enjoy it."

Raleigh blinked up at the ceiling and tried not to hear the thunder outside.

"I'm not much for flowers in the house. Reminds me of... funerals."

Yeah, he could sympathize with that one.

"I've... uh... never been to a concert. Never met a celebrity. That's weird, right? I mean, editor in chief of a major publishing house, and I've never had a celebrity send me a terrible manuscript that I have to pretend is awesome."

Raleigh's lips twitched. Okay, maybe this was an okay distraction. Until the thunder rumbled again and the first rain spattered against the windows.

"I actually went to university for mechanical engineering. My... uh... fascination with robots is legitimate, yeah? I switched to literature when the current technology wasn't as advanced as I'd hoped and I figured out I'd never have my own robot servant."

He couldn't help it. He snickered.

"Yeah, yeah." But Chuck didn't seem actually annoyed. "I think both Jeff Goldblum and Geena Davis are sexy."

Blinking, he wondered what he was supposed to make of that one.

"I haven't had sex in, like, two years." Chuck shifted again. "And... I went into my washroom and had a minor panic attack when Newt told me I'd die alone."

The last bit was rushed, like that's the one Chuck had really wanted to tell him, but not the one he actually wanted to say. Unfortunately, Raleigh had no idea how to respond. The increasing storm still lay at the back of his consciousness, but for now, this seemed more important.

Chuck Hansen. Admitting that he didn't want to die alone but feared he would.

Chuck Hansen. Admitting he was vulnerable. That he could be hurt.

"Still there, mate?"

"Yeah." Trying to find the words, he paused. "Just... processing."

"Oh, and my tattoo? You saw it, yeah?"

Hard to deny it. He'd seen _everything_. Blushing a little, he shrugged. "Hard to miss, really."

A set of intricate white wings, one on each shoulder. They weren't flashy or huge. Just... there. Nothing that would show unless he'd taken off his shirt.

Or was completely buck-naked and steamy-damp from a shower.

"I got them the year I turned sixteen and didn't need a parent's permission. They're... angel wings." Another restless shift. "My mum's name was Angela."

Oh. Right.

What the hell could he say? Should he keep the conversation going on an admission his old boss in New York would have never made? Should he change the subject or make a smartass comment to divert? Did Chuck really want to talk, or was he just giving Raleigh a list of things to remember for the interview Monday?

"You all right down there, Ray?"

Okay, just for that--

"You really haven't had sex in two years?"

Chuck sat up. "Jesus, Becket. Out of everything I just said, that's what you--"

Chuckling, he shot the foot of the bed a smug look, though he couldn't see up high enough to actually see the scowl he knew was on the cranky ginger's face. "Hey, that's a long time."

"I've been busy, in case you weren't paying attention."

"Nobody's that busy." He made no mention of how long it had been since he'd even asked a woman on a date. "Oh, hey -- what's... uh... the dragon thing?"

"DragonBall Z?"

"Yeah."

"C'mon, mate. Everyone knows DragonBall Z, even if they don't like it."

He shrugged.

Either Chuck heard the movement or got tired of the quiet. "Seriously? Saiyans? Nameks? Goku and Vegeta and Piccolo and energy blasts and Frieza? Kaah-meeeh-haaah-meeeh... _haaaah!_ "

He held out for another few seconds before giving in and snickering.

"Oi, what?"

Still snickering, he crossed one ankle over the other under his blanket pile. "I knew what it was. I was just hoping you'd do the Kamehameha thing."

"You are such an asshole." But again, Chuck didn't actually sound mad as he laid back and squirmed until he was comfortable again.

After a long moment of quiet between them, Raliegh decided to say something he'd previously decided to keep to himself. It only seemed fair, since Chuck had told him a few things to ease the air between them. It was just Raleigh's turn.

"Hey, Chuck?"

"Yeah, mate?"

Being decided didn't actually make it any easier to say, though. "Uh... don't take this the wrong way...."

All movement on the bed ceased. "Oh, God, what now?"

Swallowing hard, he made himself go through with it. "You... are a very... _very_... handsome man."

Silence. But... maybe good silence? He was pretty sure that if Chuck was pissed at the compliment, he'd have thrown something at him by now. So, he decided to push his luck.

"And your ass is kind of amazing."

"Oi, you just had to go too far, didn't you? Never fucking satisfied."

He snickered. "Can't help it. Even a straight guy can appreciate an ass like that."

"Can we please stop talking about my ass? Jesus."

Smirking and barely even hearing the thunder breaking closer every minute, he stacked his hands under his head. "So how many times have I irritated you enough to classify your anger level as over nine thousand?"

Chuck broke out in a rich belly laugh that Raleigh had never heard before. He kind of liked it. Chuck actually had a really good laugh. Too bad he used it so rarely.

"Seriously, mate. Such an asshole."

"C'mon. You've never wanted to Final Flash me?"

Another laugh. "Stop, mate. I'm still miserable from dinner, yeah?"

"Now I'm picturing you going Super Saiyan the next time Beacham calls about his contract--"

"Oi, stop! Seriously! My stomach bloody hurts!"

"And I can totally see you with a curlicued M stamped on your forehead when you give into your rage and go Majin on Newt."

"Dammit, Becket! Why didn't you tell me you're a bloody fanboy?"

His own laughter finally broke loose, even as he tried to protest. "I'm not a fanboy! I've just watched a few episodes here and there."

"Don't gimme that, you wanker. You've got action figures, don't you?"

Grinning and finally feeling at ease, he let himself settle into the snarky bickering that had started to feel... comfortable... between them. At the very least, it kept the storm outside at bay.

Thank God for that.


	22. Chapter 22

It was dark -- genuinely dark, not just shaded -- when Chuck suddenly sat up in bed, feeling like something was wrong. A storm seemed to have centered overhead -- though the house felt sturdy and barely even creaked under its fury -- but it had apparently been raging for quite some time without waking him.

So... what had?

It felt... cool in the room. The fire had burned down to a bed of coals, but that bed of coals would still put out warmth for a while. And it wasn't necessarily cool. More like... damp.

Like the glass balcony doors had briefly opened and let in a curl of rain-thick air.

_Shit._

Lunging forward and grabbing at the foot of the bed to keep from falling back into the cushy mattress, he peered at the too-dark floor and was pretty sure the pile of blankets down there was empty. But why the bloody hell would Becket go out into a storm?

An image of Raleigh's big body hacking away at the half-hollowed boat that afternoon came and went in his mind, and he slumped. He'd thought he'd done a good job of distracting the poor sod from his thoughts, but maybe the bloke was still a bit too apt at hiding behind his good nature.

Sighing, he shoved over to the edge of the bed, spotted Becket's heavy boots by the cedar chest at the foot, and felt the first curl of alarm in his stomach. Raleigh had gone outside without blankets or boots in just his pajamas?

A frown settled into his forehead, and he quickly stepped into the boots, leaving them untied, and went to the balcony doors. The shade was up, giving him a stunning and somewhat frightening view of the raging storm.

And the dumbass standing over by the rail in a soaked t-shirt and simple flannel pants, both of which clung to that big body as the wind blew torrents of rain at the house. Jesus.

Not bothering with a blanket, as it'd be soaked the second he stepped outside, he threw open the doors and bellowed out into the wild night.

"Raleigh! What the fuck are you doing out here, mate?"

No answer. Granted, with a bitch of a storm settled right overhead with almost constant thunder and lightning, the bloke probably just didn't hear him.

He was already damp just from opening the doors, but the second he stepped out from under the eave of the house, he was soaked through and freezing. A rainstorm in Alaska was nothing to fuck about with. If Raleigh wasn't careful, he'd end up with hypothermia.

Indeed, when he grabbed onto the bloke's arm and hauled him around to yell in his face, the skin under his fingers was chilled through. Unfortunately, his curses died on his lips because Raleigh... was gone. Those blue eyes were dull and fixed, unseeing as they stared blankly into the middle distance.

"Fuck, Raleigh," he breathed, already starting to shiver. "What the fuck happened to you, mate?"

No answer, not that he expected one. Instead, he urged the bloke back toward the house, and Raleigh followed like a tired child, head drooping, shoulders slumped, feet shuffling in their wet socks.

The second they stepped inside, he slammed and locked the balcony doors, then hauled his fake fiancé up against him, rubbing up and down his arms and wishing the bloke would do the same because he was fucking shuddering with cold right now. But Raleigh seemed unaffected. In fact, Raleigh acted like a robot whose programming had been suddenly erased.

He did not like that thought.

Leaving the poor sod to drip on the little section of tiles just inside the doors, he went to the armoire for an armful of towels, throwing one over his own shoulders. The others, he quickly wrapped around Raleigh, scruffing at his hair and shoulders, tucking the edge of the one around his waist into itself to hold it in place. Kneeling down, he even urged the bloke to lift one foot after the other and stripped off his socks so he could wrap a towel around his lower legs, giving them a brisk chafing, as well.

"Chuck?"

_Oh, thank God._

He looked up, and though Becket still looked about a thousand kilometers from right, the bloke had at least focused on Chuck and looked... vaguely perplexed.

"What... are you... what happened?"

"Oi, not yet, mate. Out of these wet clothes and into the shower with you, yeah? Don't turn the water on too hot or you'll burn yourself. You're too cold to feel the damage until it's too late."

Blinking and completely lost, Raleigh just looked at him, and Chuck sighed. He could do this. Besides, he was fucking freezing himself, and the last thing he wanted was to give himself hypothermia trying to keep his sham fiancé from getting it.

So, instead of explaining, he shoved to his feet, feeling his whole body start to ache with the cold, and led the poor bloke -- who had finally started shivering, thanks -- to the bathroom. There, he shut the door to keep in the heat and started divesting them both of the wet towels.

"Ch-ch-chchuck-k-k...?"

"I'm not getting frisky with you, Becket. Besides, I've already seen everything, yeah? Just gotta get you warm, and this is the quickest way to do it."

Swallowing against his chattering teeth, Raleigh nodded and tried to help, but his hands were shaking now, his body trying to curl in on itself, and Chuck ended up doing most of the work. He took no pleasure in it; the bloke's lips and fingertips were turning blue, and it didn't seem time to sneak a peak at the goods. Especially when the poor sod seemed especially protective of his left side, where all those scars were. They must ache like a bitch.

So he dropped the last of the soggy togs, then ducked around the shivering bloke to turn on the shower, making sure it was good and hot without being scalding before practically shoving Raleigh inside. He debated for less than a minute before dropping his own chilly, sodden clothes and stepping right in behind him.

Thankfully, Becket didn't protest. Instead, his frustrating but still selfless fiancé shifted aside enough for the hot spray to hit Chuck, as well. Neither of them made it weird. They just needed to get warm, so they stood in the steamy shower, chafing at their own arms, letting the water raise their temperatures to the point that they were both flushed with the heat before reluctantly getting out.

"Oi, fuck." Sighing and suddenly exhausted -- what time even was it? -- he scruffed a hand through his wet hair and realized he hadn't brought in any towels but the chilly, gross, damp ones on the floor. "Sorry, mate, but I didn't think to grab any spares."

But Becket was all the way back now and put a hand on Chuck's shoulder, a signal to stay put whilst he braved the chilly room. At this point, Chuck felt obliged to do a load of laundry for Dominique, just so their overindulgence with all the bathroom gear wouldn't have her slaving to do it herself. Plus, Becket had to be running out of clean pajamas and jumpers by now. That goddamn duffel just wasn't that big.

His eyelids were drooping when Raleigh draped a towel around his shoulders and offered another for around his waist.

"Thanks, mate."

They dried off in silence, then put on the boxer briefs and socks Raleigh had also thoughtfully grabbed on his trek into the bedroom. Chuck was pretty sure these were actually Raleigh's boxer briefs, but he was well beyond caring about it at this point. He'd worn pretty much everything else of the bloke's. Why shy away at his skivvies?

Becket huffed a sigh. "Unfortunately, I don't have any more clean pajamas."

Quirking a tired grin, Chuck nodded. "I figured as much."

Apparently not quite up to grinning just yet, Becket just offered him one of the blankets from the floor, wrapping one around himself, too. It was warm and cushy, and Chuck sighed as its comfort sank into his bones and eased away some of the fatigue of the past hour or so.

Then, Raleigh led the way back into the bedroom, which was somehow warmer than he'd expected. He didn't have to ask why, though. The quality of light told him well enough. Becket had also stirred up the fire and thrown on a few new logs.

He really was a good sort of bloke. Thoughtful as fuck.

Chuck didn't argue as Raleigh led him over to the loveseat positioned right before the fireplace and slumped down onto it. He just joined the bloke there, curling up against one end and looking from the crackling flames to the hollows beneath Raleigh's eyes and back to the flames again, wrapping the blanket more securely around him.

After a long, quiet, sleepy moment, Raleigh sighed. "I'm sorry, Chuck. I didn't mean to do that."

Blinking heavily, he looked at his fiancé and let himself trace those pretty features with his eyes. Raleigh was too busy staring at the fire to notice. Although Chuck had a feeling it wasn't the fire the sad sod was actually seeing.

"Do what, mate?"

Raleigh swallowed hard. "I... sometimes, I have nightmares." His eyes winced around the edges. "And when I do, I... sort of sleepwalk."

"Ah." Should he...? "Do... you wanna talk about it? You don't have to," he hurried to say. "Just... if you... maybe need to?"

Sighing from the soul, Becket pulled his feet up onto the loveseat, adjusting his blanket so he could wrap it around his knees. "I guess it's pointless keeping it from you. Might even help us with the whole fake marriage thing."

"No." The word was out before he even suspected it was coming, but he didn't take it back. He meant it, even when Raleigh blinked at him, looking a little hurt. "Don't tell me for that, mate. If you need to talk about it, I'll listen, but I won't use it like that. Understood?"

But that had the bloke swallowing hard and looking away. After a long moment to get himself together, he nodded. "Okay. Thanks. For that."

Embarrassed but pretty sure he'd said the right thing, he nodded and waited. Sure enough, Raleigh eventually started to talk.

"I never told you I had a brother, did I?"

Chuck closed his eyes for a moment, breathing in deeply. _Had_ , as in past tense. He had the worst feeling he was about to find out who Yancy was.

"We were close. Almost like twins, though we weren't. He was older."

This wouldn't be a good story. Logically, Chuck had known that even before all of this, but now, he actively dreaded finding out how bad it would be.

"Yancy was that brother who was just... better. At everything. But he wasn't a jerk about it, you know? He just dragged me along with him and helped me be better, too. Even when I got into fights or snuck out to the bar or screwed up on a test, he never once treated me like I was anything less than his brother."

Oh, God. The bloke was trying to smile. And failing.

"He was always Dad's favorite. I didn't try to compete or anything. I mean, how could I?" A huff that might have been a laugh if the bloke wasn't bleeding internally. "Yancy loved working at whatever store Dad put him in. He loved helping customers and knowing people's preferences and putting smiles on people's faces. And he was _good_ at it. Like he was at everything. Everyone knew he'd be taking over the businesses at some point. It was just a matter of Maman and Dad deciding when they wanted to retire, but it was all off in the future, ya know?"

Chuck swallowed hard. "And where were you when your brother was working the town?"

"Reading, usually." The bloke gestured over at the multitude of books crowding the bookshelves. "I got really into World War II when I was in junior high, so my English teacher gave me _The Fellowship of the Ring_ to read over the summer. Said if I liked that one, I might like the whole series because of the parallels." He huffed again. "Of course, now I know Tolkien meant no such thing and hated that people thought he was writing about the war, but at the time, it's like someone took something I was already fascinated with and added magic."

Grinning a bit despite the heavy pall over the story, he nodded.

"So I started reading everything I could get my hands on, and that's what was important to me. I didn't care about my grades. I didn't care about the stores. I mean, Dad had Yancy to help run them, right? They didn't need me." That sharp jaw tightened. "I didn't care until it was time to go to college and Dad said he wouldn't pay."

He frowned, but didn't interrupt. He didn't want to make any assumptions. He already didn't like Dick, so he might just be attributing poor motives when the asshole actually had a good reason.

Raleigh rolled his eyes. "He said literature wasn't a real major, and if I wasn't taking business administration or accounting or something useful, he wasn't going to throw away good money on someone who hadn't cared enough about his grades to get a scholarship."

Ugh. It wasn't even bad logic. Just... heartless.

"Wouldn't have felt so personal if he hadn't already been paying for Yancy's classes."

Okay, now that was just a dick move. A Dick move.

"Not like he ever cared about his grades, either. He just kept them high enough to keep us playing football and didn't care about the rest. We both could've done better, but... we were kids. We were stupid."

He wanted to protest that he'd known Becket three years now and had never known the bloke to be stupid, but he was afraid Raleigh had wised up the hard way. Maybe the hardest way possible.

"Anyway, I told him that was fine. I didn't need his money. I'd never cared about it. I'd just work my way through school instead of getting bogged down in loans I'd never pay off. So I went into construction." The bloke's eyes dropped to the blanket around his knees. "In protest, Yancy refused any more of Dad's money, too, and went to work with me."

Well, shit. He knew where this was going, and he understood why Raleigh would blame himself, but goddammit, it wasn't his fault. Whatever it was. If anyone's, it was Dick's.

And from the bastard's tone of voice earlier as he told his wife that he'd never blamed Raleigh, ol' Dick felt that way, too.

"We were building a mall in Anchorage just a few miles away from the school. It was good work, and we made good money at it. More than enough to cover tuition and the shitty little apartment we shared just off campus. And then one day, a storm rolled in over the course of the afternoon."

_Oi, Raleigh, you can stop now, I don't need to hear anymore. I can't bear to look at you while you tell it._

But maybe Raleigh needed to say it. So Chuck didn't interrupt. Just bit at his lip and braced for it.

"The foreman called us in after the first flash of lightning, and we all unhooked and headed down. But there was this guy, ya now? We called him Headphone Guy because he hated the sound of his pneumatic wrench, so he always wore headphones. I swear there's one on every work crew. He didn't hear the call, so I went up to bring him back down. He was up on the highest level, getting the scaffolding ready for the next floor." This hard swallow looked more like a dry heave. "Yance followed me up, just to make sure I was okay. He was a good brother that way. Always had my back, even if I was the one that started the fight."

The poor bastard went silent for so long that Chuck was tempted to cry craven and act like he was done, to bundle them both off to their separate rests. But he knew. He knew it wasn't all out yet.

And as selfish a prick as he was, he couldn't let Becket suffer alone like this anymore. So he waited.

"A lightning bolt struck the tip of the crane next to the building, and the force of the bolt knocked the whole thing over. The arm of it slammed into the scaffolding about three feet from where Headphone Guy was working and knocked him right off the edge. I grabbed him before his safety harness engaged, but the whole damn thing was coming down, including the section where he'd tied off."

Those eyes. God, those eyes weren't seeing the fire they stared at so fixedly.

"Including the section I was sprawled across. His part collapsed first. I held onto him, but my section followed right after, and I was pretty sure I was going to die right then and there, except Yancy grabbed me by the ankle and started to haul us both back in."

Chuck's heart pounded in his chest. Of fucking course, Raleigh Becket would casually risk his own life to save some random bloke. And of fucking course his goddamn martyr of a brother had been just like him. Raleigh had to fucking learn it from somewhere.

This story was going to be the death of him.

"And then Yancy's section collapsed, too, and we all fell, slamming off of girders and I-beams. I lost Headphone Guy, but he managed to grab onto a crane cable. Ripped his hands to shreds, but he lived. I got sandwiched between an I-beam and a chunk of the collapsing scaffold. Almost lost my arm." Dreamlike, he reached up and touched his left shoulder, wincing without looking away from the fire. "But Yancy just kept falling. I couldn't do a goddamn thing but watch."

Jesus. He knew he had his own story that was all too goddamn similar, but....

His voice hoarse now, rougher even than its usual pleasant rumble, the bloke kept trudging on. Because what else was there to do at this point?

"In a way, Maman lost two sons that day because as soon as I settled with the company for my injuries, I moved to New York and did my best to never look back." And now, those staring eyes filled up, and the bloke did everything in his power not to blink and let any of it spill. "And I'll never forgive myself for that, either."

"Wasn't your fault, mate." He knew the words didn't matter. He'd heard them too many times himself. Had told himself, even. "And your mum understands. Hell, even your old man understands. He doesn't blame you, yeah?"

Raleigh's head whipped around, the tears spilling out. "What the hell do you know about it?"

Okay, he probably should have led up to that bit. Holding his hands up, he tried to soothe the bloke.

"Sorry, mate. Didn't mean anything by it. I just overheard your mum and dad talking about it when I got back. He was... Raleigh, he knows he fucked up, okay? He doesn't blame you. I don't like the bastard, but he knew you got the wrong idea and felt like an asshole about it, all right?"

Chuck watched carefully as the concept occurred, met a brick wall, and was shoved aside. Raleigh couldn't accept it. Worse, Chuck understood. He wouldn't have accepted it, either.

"Believe me, mate. I know exactly where you're coming from."

Exhausted now that he'd purged some of the poison, Becket slumped and put his forehead down on his knees. "What happened to your mom, Chuck?" His voice was muffled by the blanket. "You don't have to tell me, but... hell, there'll never be a better time. You can't be any worse a human being than I am."

Dread washed through him, and he swallowed hard, not sure he was ready. "Don't count on that."

Sighing, Raleigh shrugged. "It's okay. We can just try to get some sleep. At least now you know why I fucking hate thunderstorms and tend to sleepwalk when they get bad and haven't pushed to take any vacation time since I started working for you."

Damn it all to hell and gone, but the bloke had opened a vein for him, and... maybe they could at least be guilty as fuck together instead of being secret guilty assholes forever.

So, he cleared his throat. "You hate thunderstorms. Well, I hate boats. And the ocean. And surprises."

Thankfully, Becket didn't look up. Just... listened.

"For my tenth birthday, my old man took me and my mum on a surprise cruise off the Melbourne coast. He'd bought the 26-foot sailboat a month or so before, but he kept saying it wasn't seaworthy yet. Turns out, he'd actually had it sorted before he even bought it and was saving that first cruise for me."

Raleigh's hand slipped out from the folds of the blanket, groped across the small space between them, and wrapped gently around Chuck's ankle outside the blanket. It was a small thing, not even skin-on-skin contact, but Chuck appreciated it. He knew where it was coming from, after all.

"Unfortunately, the bloke he'd hired to kit the thing out hadn't bothered to recaulk the hull. The boat had been drydocked for a few years and the spars had pulled apart and warped. Not usually a problem for an actual boatman, but we trusted the wanker. Not like we knew any better."

This was harder than he thought. He wasn't sure he could actually finish now that he'd started.

"I... Raleigh... fuck. I can't...." Gritting his jaw, he shook his head. "Nope. Sorry, mate. Can't make myself relive it. Suffice it to say, my mum and I were both hurt, and my dad could only save one of us, yeah?" Great. Now _he_ was crying. Sniffing angrily, he rubbed at his nose with the blanket. "And I'm pretty sure he's spent every minute since regretting his choice. And everyone keeps telling me it's not my fault, and I know that and it doesn't fucking matter, because it's my fucking fault. Fair enough?"

The hand around his ankle squeezed gently. "Fair enough." The bloke took his hand back and sat up, swiping at his eyes casually, like Chuck swiped at his nose. Like they didn't each know what the other was doing. "So... whaddya say we chalk this up as another awkward as hell thing we'll never talk about again?"

Relieved, he almost laughed, even though it felt like someone was sitting on his chest. "Becket, I could fucking kiss you."

The bloke heaved a not-laugh that sounded awfully familiar. "Save it for the wedding, tough guy."

Over nine thousand percent done with the conversation and the guilt and both of their shitty situations, they both shoved to their feet, moving like old farts both because they'd been sitting all cramped up for too long after their cold dousing and because they were both broken-hearted sad fucks who had just swapped life stories from hell. Chuck was tempted to offer Raleigh the bed -- it was big enough that if they wrapped up in their own blankets, they wouldn't even bump each other -- but Becket didn't give him the chance. The bloke just laid down on his usual little pallet on the floor and huddled down in his blanket cave.

So, Chuck crawled onto the comfortable mattress and settled, more tired than he'd ever been. He refused to look at the clock. He didn't even want to know.

"G'night, Raleigh."

A sigh. "Good night, Chuck. Sorry to keep you up."

He grinned a little, too tired to fight it. "It's okay, mate. Get some sleep."

Becket made a little murmuring noise of assent and was out like a light. Chuck was pretty sure he followed right after.

Thank God, but neither of them had any more dreams.


	23. SATURDAY

Chuck woke with a start, sitting up and immediately feeling a sense of déjà vu. Fortunately, a quick peek over the foot of the bed showed a dimly outlined Raleigh wadded up in blankets, fast asleep on his side and facing away from the bed. It wasn't exactly dark in the room -- the shades blocked out most of the light but not all of it -- so Chuck lay back down, just in case the bloke rolled over, half-awake.

The poor sod needed his sleep.

Yawning and stretching quietly, he admitted to himself that he could probably use a few more hours of shuteye himself. Last night had been brutal and exhausting. Worse, it showed him what he'd sort of understood from the start of this mess but hadn't wanted to look at too closely: he and Raleigh Becket were a lot more alike than he'd ever imagined. They had both suffered too much loss and had taken all the guilt inside themselves and used it to block out the world.

But where Chuck had turned to order and schedules to feel more in control of any situation, Becket had just shouldered his load _and_ everyone else's, taking personal responsibility for everything around him and determinedly carrying on under the weight.

Chuck just... wanted to help. He'd never wanted to help anyone before, but he did now. He just didn't know how, and the memory of those big blue eyes filled up with tears that Raleigh refused to shed left him feeling like the most useless asshole in the world.

Sighing, he ran his hand up into his hair, then realized it probably looked like he'd been dragged through the bush backward. He hadn't exactly tried to tame it after scrubbing at it with a towel and forgetting all about it.

Grumbling under his breath, he tried to bring some order to the chaos, wishing he had his shaving mirror handy. Ugh, now that he thought of it, he probably had that nasty crusty stuff in the corners of his eyes. Out with that shit. Jesus, and his mouth tasted like a dead animal. Would Becket notice if he snuck into the loo to brush his teeth?

Someone knocked at the door, and Chuck froze, instantly guilty although he hadn't really been doing anything but primping. A bit. For no reason at all.

"Good morning, mes garçons! Are you awake? Are you decent?"

Shit shit _shit_. Raleigh's mum was at the door, and Becket was passed out on the goddamn floor. At best, she'd think they had a fight. At worst....

"Ray!" He wished a whisper carried better. "Oi, Ray!"

"Boys?" Knock knock. "Is everything all right?"

_"Raleigh, goddammit!"_

Thinking fast, he snagged one of his pillows and threw it, hitting the unconscious bastard right in the back of the head. The bloke grunted and rolled over to sit up, staring blearily around, too asleep to be pissed yet.

"Your mum is at the goddamn door! Get your ass in bed!"

The fog cleared, and Becket shot to his feet, bundling up his covers and pallet and hauling them all over to the bed. The bastard did spare a second to throw the pillow back, smacking it right into Chuck's face.

Throwing it aside, Chuck growled and hauled down one corner of the covers. "I'll get you for that, you wanker."

"You did it first!" Said wanker was trying to spread the blankets out as if they needed half the wardrobe's quilts just to stay warm.

Impatient as yet another series of knocks sounded at the door, he reached out and grabbed his fiancé by the wrist, yanking him into bed. "Argue about it later!"

But the bloke was still trying to arrange the covers as he climbed in.

"Oi, not the fucking baby-maker! Get that shit off the--"

"Raleigh? Chuck? Are you all right?"

Becket sputtered. "Fine! Just give us a-- ow! Jesus, gimme a second to--"

"Shut up and spoon me!"

But when the bloke complied, Chuck jerked away, hot and cold in turns. "Oi, what the fuck, Becket?"

It took him a second, but once it sank in, Becket blushed to the roots of his hair. "Sorry."

Chuck glared. Becket glared back, still blushing.

"What? It's morning!"

If he was honest, Chuck had more than a little morning wood going himself, but he was too flustered to be anything resembling honest about it. "Yeah, well, keep the ol' sausage sheathed, mate."

"Fuck you, Chuck."

He snorted. "In your dreams, Becket."

 _Or in mine._ But he cut that thought off quick.

"Boys?"

"Yeah, Maman! You can... door's open!"

The door opened, and they hurriedly settled together, Chuck tucked in at Raleigh's side, Raleigh's arms around him. It was... actually pretty damn comfortable, for all that they were in their boxers and had damn near been caught in a lie.

...Shit. They were in their boxers. With Raleigh's mum stepping into the room, beaming ear to ear, bearing a tray loaded with a teapot, cups, and a plate of... biscuits?

"Aw, are those Mamie's rose water madeleines?"

Dominique nodded, smiling happily at the sight of them cuddling. Awkwardly, but she didn't know that. "She got up early this morning to make them special."

They smelled pretty damn good, but he felt obliged to protest. "Oi, she didn't have to do that."

"It was no trouble, Chuck." She lay the plate down on a nearby end table. "She just wanted to--"

"Is there room for one more?"

Jesus Christ, now it was Raleigh's father. The last thing Chuck wanted to face down practically naked up against Raleigh was the bloke's bigoted paternal.

Raleigh stiffened at his back. Well, his body stiffened. His hard-on actually faded a bit.

"Uh... Dad. Can we not do the... whole family thing? We just got up, and--"

Dick put his hands up. "I know. I'm sorry. I just... your mother and I were talking, and we decided... well, she decided, but I happen to agree... that it would be great if--"

Dominique, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet, broke in. "If you boys would get married here tomorrow!"

Dick nodded, expression careful. "Tomorrow."

Raleigh was silent. Chuck was silent.

_Awkward._

"N--" Raleigh stopped, then tried again. "No, that's... I don't think--"

_Help him, you idiot!_

Shaking himself, Chuck put a hand on Becket's knee, abruptly realizing he was baring his topless self to the room. "It's... isn't it Mamie's big party tomorrow?"

Raleigh's arm around his shoulders squeezed briefly. Chuck took it as a thank you.

And then Mamie all but ran into the room, stopping by Dominique's elbow. Raleigh groaned and covered his face with his free hand.

"Young man, I have had eighty-nine birthdays. I would much rather see my one petit-fils marry. And to such a fine man."

Well, shit. How did he argue with that?

"Uh... I don't think... we're not ready for that yet, I don't--"

"You will be married anyway, yes?" Dominique set her delicate chin, apparently dead set on getting her way. Chuck was starting to feel a little sorry for ol' Dick. "You would do as well to marry here so Mamie can be a part of it. It is not so easy for her to travel."

Raleigh groaned. "Maman...."

Mamie stepped closer to the bed. "S'il vous plaît¹, my precious boy. I would see you happy before I die, yes?"

Chuck's heart cringed. "Okay."

Luckily, at the same moment: "Oui, Mamie. Pour toi.²"

Whatever that meant.

Apparently, it meant "yes", because Dominique and Maman both squealed and threw their arms around each other. Dick, while not quite as enthusiastic, gave Raleigh a solemn nod.

"Oh, my sweet boys, you have made us so happy!" Dominique's eyes were misty, but her smile was radiant. "We will do everything, yes? We will make all of the arrangements. Oh, but you will be married in the barn, oui? Like me and Richard?"

Chuck blinked. "Oi? In a barn?"

Raleigh gave him another squeeze. "It's a really nice barn."

Massively uncomfortable, he tried for a joke. "As long as it doesn't smell like shite."

Dominique and Mamie laughed, but he was pretty sure it was only because they were already ecstatic. Dick looked like he was more than ready to leave, and Raleigh just closed his eyes and shook his head.

"This is the most best day, mes chers." Mamie clasped her hands together above her heart. "I must go out into the Nature and give thanks to L'arbre du Monde³. Merci, merci, my loves, merci."

The tiny bird woman fluttered out, and Dick tried to edge Dominique toward the door. She was too busy smiling at them to make much progress. Unfortunately, Chuck could feel Raleigh's breath starting to hitch against his back and knew the bloke was about one wrong word away from an attack of some sort.

"Pardon, garçons, I know I should leave you alone." She backed a few steps, her fingers to her lips. "I am just so... oh, this will be the best day!"

"C'mon, Dee." Dick finally put an arm around her, leading her gently from the room. "We have plans to make, remember?"

The door closed behind them, and Chuck and Raleigh sat in silence for a moment, each trying to absorb what had just happened.

Married. They were getting married tomorrow. Sure, they both knew it would come to that eventually, but... that was the future. A future they didn't have to think too hard about until it actually happened.

And now, it was tomorrow.

Raleigh sucked in a tearing breath. "Chuck, this is a nightmare." The bloke took his arms back, practically unseating Chuck as he sat forward and covered his face in his hands. "I... what were we thinking? I'm gonna fuck this up, and it'll break my mother's heart, and oh, my God, Mamie's gonna have a heart attack and die, she's fucking ninety years old, and--"

"Oi, Raleigh." His own heart speeding up, he gave his dubious fiancé a shove. "Calm down, mate. You're not gonna fuck anything up, yeah?"

But Raleigh was beyond comfort. "And Dad! What the fuck even was that? I swear to God, he even looked _serious_ , not like he was just giving in to Maman, and I can't--"

Okay, the bloke was seriously spinning out now. Not thinking about anything other than that they were sat so close together, Chuck leaned in and wrapped an arm around Raleigh's shoulders, gripping his near upper arm tightly with the other hand.

"Raleigh, stop. Listen to me, yeah?"

To his relief, the poor sod did actually stop. He traced his thumb up and down the thrumming bicep under his hand.

"You won't fuck up. This was going to happen anyway. Might as well get it over with. Yeah, it caught me a bit off-guard, but it's not like we were planning to stay married forever, yeah? It doesn't change anything."

Hard muscle loosened, though the bloke still hid his face. Chuck kept up the stroking with his thumb, hoping it was a soothing gesture.

"As for your dad... well...." It was just a guess, but he sort of understood the gesture. "I think... maybe he's trying to make it up to you. For how he spoke to you yesterday." He leaned closer still, rubbing his whole hand up and down now that Raleigh seemed to be calming down. "For how it made you feel."

Becket finally peered at him over the tips of his fingers, those ridiculously blue eyes doubtful but... listening. Hoping he was right.

God, the things he'd do to earn that look.

Blinking, he felt the sudden urge to lick his lips and fought it. "Everything's gonna be fine, Raleigh."

His fiancé nodded wordlessly, and they just sat there a while, neither making any move to leave the strangely intimate moment. Then, Chuck startled, suddenly remembering that they were practically naked. And in bed.

So, he gave the bloke one last squeeze and what he hoped was a reassuring grin, then shoved out of bed, immediately wishing he was wearing one of Raleigh's jumpers. And pants, of course. Pants would be nice.

But the biscuit things smelled amazing, and the tea smelled like a good, strong English breakfast blend, so he picked up the whole tray and hauled it back over to the bed, setting it between them like a small wall.

"What the hell are madeleines, anyway?" He sniffed one, eyeing the drizzle and tiny dark flecks. "Is that cinnamon? And honey?"

Raleigh poured them each a cup of tea, finally coming down enough to banter. "They're like a cross between cake and a cookie. It's a French thing. Some people add orange blossom water to theirs to be more traditional, but Mamie has always preferred rose water."

Chuck took a bite, and the light, buttery flavor, sweetened somehow by the aromatic rose, made him moan almost embarrassingly loud. "Jesus Christ, Raleigh, if Mamie wasn't ninety years old, I'd marry her instead of you."

An actual laugh jumped out of the silly sod at the thought, and Chuck was damn proud of himself, even though he was currently experiencing a foodgasm. A sip of stout English breakfast only heightened his pleasure in another buttery, fluffy bite. Good God. He needed these every day of his life.

"You said you cook, yeah?"

Raleigh shot him a glance. "No, pumpkin, I can't make madeleines like Mamie's. They're her special thing. I wouldn't even try."

"Fuck that, mate." He actually licked his fingers for the last dregs of honey and cinnamon before reaching for another. "I'm asking her for the recipe. I'll fucking learn." Smirking, he elbowed his fiancé and waggled his eyebrows. "Gotta keep my man happy, yeah? Wouldn't want you leaving me for that sheila at the coffee shop."

Grinning now, the bloke elbowed him back. "I've already put in three years, sweetcheeks. I can put up with you for three more. And I actually _do_ like your coffee, remember?"

And just like that, the enormity of the situation hit him. This was... a disturbingly domestic scene, but they were casually talking about the time limit on the... relationship. That wasn't a relationship. That was starting to by God feel like one, at least to Chuck.

That was doomed to failure because Raleigh wasn't even interested in anything with Chuck. With a man.

With Chuck.

He needed to get up. He needed... just to think for a second. Somewhere where Raleigh wasn't looking at him like he was right now, the amusement in those goddamn gorgeous eyes changing to curiosity and then to concern. Somewhere where he didn't have to think about how they'd exchanged the worst parts of themselves last night, and it didn't mean a goddamn thing because they were getting married tomorrow and it was all a fucking lie and in three years, it would all be over and....

...and Chuck didn't want that.

_Oh, fuck a sideways wallaby. I am so, so fucked._

Forcing himself to focus, he smoothed his expression and gulped down the last of his tea. God, he wanted another madeleine, but he didn't want to sit there even one minute longer.

"Chuck?"

_Just let me escape, Raleigh. I know I can't run forever, but I can damn well still run today._

"No, keep--" He gestured at the tray and forced a smile. "I just... feel like taking a walk. Two days without my elliptical, yeah?"

Becket didn't look convinced, but his soon-to-be-actual-husband didn't stop him, either. Just picked up a madeleine and took a bite.

Which Chuck absolutely did not want to stay and watch.

Doing his best not to mutter under his breath -- this was why he lived alone, dammit -- he dug around in his rolly duffel for a pair of pants that didn't scream "office casual", let alone "business dinner" or "Jesus, just wear a goddamn suit next time, genius" and settled on a pair of brown trousers that he honestly didn't even remember buying (or packing). He then made no bones about rummaging around in Becket's open duffel for another jumper. How the fuck the bastard had managed to pack so damn many bulky -- soft, heavenly-smelling, super comfortable -- jumpers in with everything he'd brought, Chuck would never know. And right now, he didn't even care.

This one was a mossy grey-green, and he was pretty sure his eyes would match it, like they tended to do anything either blue or green. He wondered what Raleigh looked like in it, then forcibly turned his mind away from the thought.

His shaving kit and toothbrush were already in the loo, so he forewent any further embarrassing rummaging and closed the door behind him so he didn't have to feel Becket's eyes watching his every move. If he was lucky, the bloke was too distracted by his ass in boxer briefs to think about why Chuck had suddenly unplugged from the situation.

That might be a bit too much to hope for.

When he emerged a few minutes later -- breath much fresher, jaw smooth, and hair almost tamed but seriously missing his good shampoo and conditioner that he'd almost brought but talked himself out of at the last minute -- Raleigh sat on the cedar chest at the foot of the bed in a straining t-shirt that showed every single muscle and a pair of jeans that was goddamn indecent. They weren't even tight. The fucker just filled them out like a sin in the making.

"Oi, what?"

Okay, defensive. But he managed to avoid scowling and crossing his arms, so he counted it a win. Even two days ago, he might have fake-fired the bastard for grinning at him like that.

Biting back the grin, the bloke held up a pair of thick socks and his own boots. Chuck narrowed his eyes.

"Really, Chuck? Eight pairs of shoes, and not a single pair of tennis shoes or hiking boots in the lot?"

He felt the tips of his ears burn. "Oi, did you go through my fucking luggage?"

Becket's smartass eyes dropped to the jumper, then returned to Chuck's face. One eyebrow lifted.

"Not the same, dammit."

Rolling his eyes, his asshole of a fiancé offered the boots and socks again, and this time, Chuck grudgingly took them. If he was going for a walk, he really didn't have any shoes that would stand up to timber.

"I was curious, okay?"

He glanced up from where he'd already reached down to pull on a sock. Becket shrugged.

"That suitcase is seriously heavy."

"Shut up."

But he said it under his breath and, because he was determinedly focusing on not falling on his ass as he pulled on Becket's boots, he didn't see if the bloke heard him or not.

Before he left the room entirely, he paused and shot Raleigh a glance, quickly looking away. "Thanks, mate."

Becket nodded, and Chuck left.

He had no idea where he was going. He left the house -- making sure the door shut behind him in case the demon cat was about -- and just took off walking inland, toward the trees. This was supposed to be a business arrangement. Sure, he'd started to realize Becket was a damn good-looking specimen of a man. Yeah, he'd also started to realize the bloke was a genuinely good person who'd been treated like shit by the world for far too long.

That didn't mean he had to make everything infinitely more complicated by falling for his fucking assistant. It was perfectly acceptible to fake a relationship and act like a silly sausage around his fake boyfriend when people were looking. It was _not_ acceptible to fall in fucking love with a straight bloke who was just doing him a solid in hopes of mildly advancing his own career rather than being fired just for working for the wrong bloke at the wrong time.

"Get it together, Chuck." He sped his steps, shoving his hands in his pockets and trying not to think about how comfortably worn-in Becket's boots were. "You're spinning out. Just get your shit together."

This is what happened when something fucked with the schedule. When he landed one hell of a deal with a difficult client out of the blue. When some random woman propositioned his assistant on a fucking coffee cup.

He was reminded of Gandalf warning Frodo that it's a dangerous business, walking out your front door. Too fucking right. Chuck felt like he'd left his flat Wednesday morning and ended up on the road to Mordor.

A reluctant grin quirked his mouth. Apparently it was true; one does not simply _walk_ into Mordor. Because Chuck Hansen planned on being dragged in, kicking and screaming.

A strange noise intruded on his musings, and he abruptly stopped and realized he had no idea how long he'd been walking or where he was. He wasn't cold -- he had, in fact, hiked fast enough to warm himself up nicely -- but he was all too aware that he hadn't thought to pull on a coat. Surely, he wouldn't need one. It wasn't like he was lost or anything.

Except... when he turned around to look back the way he'd come, it looked exactly the same as the way he'd been going. Leaves and branches and pine needles littered the ground between the trees, not to mention all the scrub growing willy nilly, so he couldn't even see his own tracks.

Before he got too concerned, though, he heard that noise again. It sounded like... singing? No... chanting. Chanting?

Frowning a bit, he tilted his head and followed the sound and the odd, occasional... splash? No, more like a... plopping sound. Bewildered, he veered off into rougher timber, stopping every few meters to reorient himself to the bizarre sounds wafting through the bloody neverending forest straight out of Middle Earth. He half expected to be snatched up by an Ent.

His ears led him down a little slope, and by the third time he'd slipped and fallen on his ass, he was just about done with this shite. If someone was fucking with him, he was in no mood to be tolerant.

But the chanting was _so close_. Where the...?

He rounded a boulder on the edge of a sloped clearing and hesitantly poked his head out around it, not wanting to step out in case it was some incredibly stupid kind of trap.

However, instead of a trap, he saw Mamie, a silky, flowing green robe over her usual peacoat and khakis, standing on the other side of a small cauldron on a stand over a merrily crackling fire. Her eyes were closed, her hands raised near her face with the palms facing her, chanting in what was likely her native French.

What. The. Fuck.

The chanting didn't pause as she reached under the robe into one of her trouser pockets, drew out a small something he couldn't make out, and tossed it into the boiling pot. Plop.

Well, that explained that, anyway.

But seriously. What the fuck.

"You may join me if you are curious, bel homme."

Okay, so he hadn't been particularly stealthy coming down the slope, but she wasn't even fucking looking. "Uh... no thanks, Mamie. I'll just... was just passing by, yeah? And heard... but you go right ahead. I'll just head back to the--"

"Non, non. Please do come to join me." Her sharp, dark eyes opened and speared him, her little bird face breaking into an impish grin. "I am giving thanks to L'arbre du Monde for bringing you to my sweet Raleigh, who has so needed someone to love him."

Hesitantly leaving the scant cover of the boulder, he stepped a bit further into the clearing. "To... larber do what now?"

She chuckled. "I forget to translate, yes? I speak of the World Tree, worshipped by man before civilization began. Its roots go deep, Chuck, and hold together the earth and the underworld, while the branches hold up the heavens, the great trunk connecting all three."

He blinked. "Okay."

"Come." She gestured, the robe glistening in the morning light.

Now that he moved closer, he realized the silk was painstakingly embroidered with thin gold and brown threads, the colors making branches among all the emerald green. His mind immediately flashed to the baby-maker, and it occurred to him that she had probably done both, making each stitch by hand, sewing whatever this was into the very fabric.

Now the goddamn quilt _really_ creeped him out.

"You think I am a silly old woman, yes?"

He started to sputter, but she gave him a smirking look that was entirely too Raleigh to argue with. Uncomfortable, he shrugged, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets.

"But I tell you, jeune homme⁴, that I feel the magic in this world, and I feel it most here, in the heart of the island. And I thank that magic, for it has worked its will and brought you and Raleigh together."

His eyes dropped to Raleigh's boots. An asshole in a skinny tie and weird tattoos had brought him and Raleigh together, and he'd do well to remember that. If not for Newt's bullshit anonymous tip, none of this would have been necessary.

Then again, he was wearing a seriously comfortable jumper, and the color looked damn good on him. So maybe it wasn't all bad.

"Will you join me in my chant? You do not have to believe to participate."

If he was honest, the madeleines alone were worth being weirded out in a forest, so he stepped closer until he could feel the warmth of the fire. A quick peek over the edge of the cauldron showed that several smallish rocks of various colors had sunk to the bottom, too heavy to be picked up by the boiling water.

He raised an eyebrow, and Mamie nodded.

"They are the earth in the water." She gestured toward the little campfire below. "That is the fire and this is the air." Indicating the general atmosphere with a theatrical wave that conveniently flared the sleeve of her robe. "We bring them together and thank them for being our foundation."

He frowned. "I thought the tree was the foundation?"

"And so it is. But it is a... hmm... it holds together and supports the universe. And the universe is made from the four elements here. They are in all things, connected by the tree."

"Right." Nodding, he determined to not ask any more questions.

Maybe, if he just went along with whatever this was, she'd let him tag along when she went back to the house. He wasn't sure he'd find the way, otherwise.

"Have you chanted, bel homme?"

Avoiding the question, he asked one of his own. "What does that mean, anyway?"

She smirked again, and he seriously could not believe this woman was ninety years old. Maybe this World Tree shite was worth something, after all, because he wouldn't put her out of her sixties. Healthy sixties, at that.

"Raleigh does not tell you? It means 'pretty man'." She winked. "And well-earned."

His ears burned, and he fought a scowl. It was a compliment, after all. He just... didn't handle compliments well. Never knew what to say.

"So this chanting shi-- er... stuff. How do I...?"

She laughed merrily. "Tu es tellement adorable⁵, Chuck Hansen."

"Yeah, I didn't catch any of that." He didn't mention that he was pretty sure she'd just called him adorable because apparently some things sounded the same in any fucking language. "Is it like meditating, or what?"

Raleigh Becket so owed him for this. Where the hell was the wanker when he actually needed him?

"We will teach you, yes?"

_The things I do for tiny little bird women who make fucking amazing biscuits._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¹ - Please  
> ² - Yes, Mamie, for you.  
> ³ - the World Tree  
> ⁴ - young man  
> ⁵ - You are so adorable


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say that I laughed entirely too much writing this chapter. I apologize for nothing.

By the time he heard from Mr. Kaidanovsky at the general store, Raleigh had finished off his breakfast -- he saved four madeleines for Chuck, who had clearly loved them -- tidied up the room a bit, made the bed, and done two loads of laundry. His Maman laughed when he explained that the sweaters Chuck had apparently looked so charming in all weekend were actually Raleigh's. Then, she batted him on the arm and gave him a look so full of love and... _relief_... that he had to look away.

She was so damn happy for him. It broke his heart.

So the phone call was a welcome distraction. Chuck's new phone was ready. They could come get it any time. It meant another boat ride, and he knew now what that meant for Chuck, but his sham fiancé seemed to be getting the hang of it as the weekend progressed. He'd seemed fine yesterday, anyway.

Idly thinking about how his normally contentious boss had actually stooped to comforting him through his freakout this morning, he pulled on a pair of his old boots Maman had produced from the hall closet. He wanted to chalk it up to his boss protecting his investment, but as much as he avoided thinking about it, Chuck had thawed toward him considerably since they'd arrived. They actually joked while they bickered, bantering taunts slipping in where, before, Chuck would sling insults while Raleigh clenched his jaw and acted like they didn't bother him.

In all, he was grateful for the thaw. He didn't necessarily feel better for spilling his guts last night, but Chuck had handled it as well as anyone could have and had even unburdened himself a bit. It felt... like they were even, somehow. Like they'd let down the walls enough to trust each other with a piece of themselves.

It wasn't a bad feeling.

So, he grinned a little as he set out, not sure which direction Chuck had gone. He doubted a man who was uncomfortable with boats and the open water would go for a walk on the boardwalk or even on the shore, where the view was unavoidable. With that thought in mind, he headed inland for the woods, taking the same path he'd walked yesterday on his way to that oh-so-helpful interview with his father.

Thankfully, though he was no Pathfinder, he did see signs here and there of Chuck's passing. A broken twig here, a scuff in the leaves down to the dark loam underneath there.

A series of deep, swooping runnels dug into the turf down a steep slope that had Raleigh snickering to picture the cursing and frantic tree-grabbing those falls must have caused.

"Mes anaconda... ne veulent nul...."¹

"Mes anaconda... ne veulent nul."

He stopped, blinking at the foliage. That was Mamie's voice, followed by Chuck's. She was... teaching him French? In the woods? Weird French?

"Sauf si vous avez obtenu...."²

"Sauf si vous avez obtenu."

"Brioches, miel."³

"...Doesn't miel mean honey?" Chuck sounded suspicious.

Raleigh covered his mouth.

"Ah! Trés bien!⁴ You learn the French so well, bel homme!"

"Are you sure this is an ancient French chant?"

"Mais oui. Now the next part--"

Biting his lip to keep in a laugh that would never endear him to his prickly ginger fiancé, Raleigh stepped around a boulder and paused to really take in the sight that met him. Chuck and Mamie sat in meditation poses on either side of Mamie's conjuring pot, hands palm up on their knees, eyes closed, heads tilted back.

Okay, that wasn't entirely true. Chuck's eyes were closed. Mamie's were slitted just enough to watch his hapless would-be husband, and she had the worst, most wickedly adorable smirk on her face.

"Bébé avez obtenu le cul."⁵

Chuck grunted and opened one eye. "Bébé as in baby? As in the baby-maker? Mamie, please tell me you're not making it so one of us can get pregnant."

The laugh jumped out of him without asking for permission. Chuck jumped up and spun around, looking guilty as hell, but that only made Raleigh laugh harder. Gasping, he fell back against the boulder and tried not to think about his grandmother teaching Chuck butchered French lyrics to _Baby Got Back_ and Chuck misinterpreting it as the start of a male pregnancy spell.

It didn't help that Mamie broke and started giggling, too, leaving Chuck glaring between the two of them and likely debating which one was safest to yell at.

"Oi! Are you two in on it together, then? Dirty pool, Becket! And after all we've shared!"

Bless his heart, but Chuck was clearly trying to make light of his embarrassment. Unfortunately, that only brought out fresh laughter until Raleigh bent forward and braced his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. Of all the things he'd expected to surprise the hell out of him this weekend, this scenario took the whole damn taco stand.

"Seriously, Raleigh. What was she teaching me to say?"

Mamie tutted, still snickering. "Now, bel homme, I have told you that it is the feeling behind the words that matter when you speak to the World Tree. The words themselves are but placeholders for your emotions."

Dammit, he was laughing again. Chuck. Praying to the World Tree about how his anaconda don't want none. His grandmother could be downright evil, but she had really gone the distance this time.

"Why do I have the feeling the World Tree is laughing its roots off at me right now?"

Gasping and feeling a little lightheaded, he tried to get ahold of himself. "Sorry. Sorry, Chuck. I just...." Another spate of chuckles broke out, but he reined them in and shot the poor guy an apologetic look that trembled around the edges. "This wasn't what I was expecting to find, is all."

Eyes that were greener than usual as they picked up the color in his sweater narrowed. "Just what _were_ you expecting to find, mate?"

He put up his hands, finally getting a handle on his amusement. "Your new phone came in. Just wanted to see if you wanted to come with me to get it."

"Oi, fuck yeah!" The excitement blenched as Chuck shot a glance at Mamie. "Sorry, Mamie. Uh... can I go with him?"

She smiled, still with entirely too much wicked in her eyes. "I would not dream of keeping you two apart."

Chuck's eyes narrowed, but he gave an awkward sort of half-bow and turned an expectant look on Raleigh. Grinning, Raleigh tipped his head off to the left, suspecting his pseudo-fiancé wouldn't be interested in climbing back up the slope.

When they were out of earshot of the clearing, Chuck cleared his throat. "So... what's with Mamie and the whole Nature worship thing?"

He grinned softly, strolling along and actually enjoying the trek. It was nice to walk these woods with someone at his side, knowing he wasn't walking toward a confrontion but just a trip to the mainland.

"She claims it's an ancient French custom, but it's really only gained popularity in the last ten years or so, and she's lived in the States for, like, twenty years now. Some kind of neo-paganism movement." He shrugged. "I think she initially started it to piss off my dad, but it gets her out of the house, and the fresh air and meditation seems to be good for her, like the hike out to her little clearing."

Chuck grunted. "I think she's trying to give me a uterus."

He cracked up all over again, holding his stomach, which was starting to ache. "I think we're in the wrong business to have this discussion. We've both read too many books that make it seem probable."

"Right?" After a pleasant moment's quiet backlaid by their rustling footsteps and the gentle rush of the breeze through the trees, Chuck shot him a narrow-eyed look. "Seriously, though. What the hell did she have me chanting?"

Mouth twitching, he tried to look serious. "Ever hear of Sir Mix-a-lot?"

Chuck stopped cold. "Are you fucking serious?"

Snickering again, he reached out and grabbed his adorably irritated ginger fiancé by the elbow to get him moving again. He didn't even mind when said ginger fiancé bitched all the way across the lawn and down to the shore. And over the boardwalk.

In fact, he only stopped bitching when Raleigh started sorting out the life jacket's buckles in preparation for helping Chuck into it.

"Oi, don't think that's really necessary, yeah?"

He raised his eyebrows, searching Chuck's face for any sign that he was just putting on a brave front. To his surprise, his boss blushed a little and shrugged.

"I trust you, mate."

Warmth and dread both bubbled up in his chest, mixing uneasily. Warmth because, after everything that had happened to Chuck, after everything Raleigh had told him about how badly he'd failed his brother and his parents, Chuck wanted to trust him. Dread because... God, what if he failed all over again?

Likely seeing some of the conflict in his expression -- even when he was being an asshole, Chuck was never actually oblivious; he sometimes just refused to acknowledge what he saw -- Chuck took the life vest from his hands and tossed it into the boat.

"You're still driving."

Grinning a little, he helped his fiancé into the boat, then jumped in himself.

"You're the boss, boss."

"Goddamn right."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¹ - My anaconda... don't want none...  
> ² - Unless you got...  
> ³ - Buns, hon.  
> ⁴ - Very good!  
> ⁵ - Baby got ass.


	25. Chapter 25

Chuck was getting used to this whole boating thing. He could even admit that the approaching mainland had its charm beyond just being solid ground. Also, it was nice to see Raleigh at the helm, calm and confident and so in his element.

Sitka itself even seemed like life inside a postcard as they strolled through it. The shopfronts were clean and freshly painted, the lettering crisp and bright. The streets had a few patched cracks, but were otherwise in good repair, and the sidewalks ran true and uncluttered.

And the people. Maybe Chuck was just too used to New York, where the zombie horde only parted for people who looked angry enough to pick up and throw anyone in their way, but it seemed to him that Sitka, Alaska, was a surprisingly friendly, welcoming place. Here he was, a stranger with an alternate lifestyle, and no one batted an eye. In fact, he was greeted with smiles and waves at every turn.

Some of that was Raleigh, of course. The bloke had his relaxed puppy face on as he idly window-shopped and waved at anyone who greeted them. But plenty of people went out of their way to greet Chuck, as well. It was... frankly bizarre.

But also rather nice.

He was still trying to reconcile how he felt with what he'd expected from some shitty little nowhere town in Alaska when they strolled into Becket's General Store and Raleigh called out a greeting for the giant Russian bloke at the till.

"Little Becket! Little Hansen! So good to see you today!" Mr. Kaidanovsky really was a bear of a man, but he seemed nice enough, despite his questionable choices in hair coloring. "Cheung has your new phone back at the electronics counter. I already put it on your tab."

Raleigh, who'd been reaching for his wallet -- prompting Chuck to scramble for his because it was his damn phone, so there was no reason for Raleigh to be out of pocket -- frowned. "I have a tab?"

Kaidanovsky raised an enormous eyebrow. "Your name is on the building. You have a tab."

Chuck snickered, earning an oversized wink from the Russian. "Don't worry, love. I'll pay you back."

They started to walk away, but the giant bloke spoke again. "Or I could just make it a wedding gift?"

Blinking, Raleigh shot Chuck a look, but Chuck just shrugged and looked back at the Russian. "I'd rather you gave me the stuffed carcass of the eagle what stole my phone in the first place."

It earned him a thunderous laugh. "Oh, I like you, little Hansen. Yes, you will do nicely for our Raleigh."

Chuck waggled his eyebrows, but Raleigh just blushed and grabbed him by the elbow to haul him toward the back of the store. Where that bi-polar asshole, Wei Cheung, was waiting for them. Sure enough, the smile of greeting for Raleigh dropped into a scowl when he saw Chuck tagging along behind.

Yeah, well, he wasn't having any of that today. He was in too good a mood. "So, a Chinese bloke selling electronics."

Dark eyes narrowed. "So, a racist elitist prick casually replacing an expensive toy."

Raleigh's eyes widened, but instead of intervening, he just walked away, leaving Chuck to his own devices.

_Dick move, Becket._

He glanced disdainfully down at the phone on the counter. It was actually a newer model than his other one had been, though he'd only had it six months, but he wasn't about to let on. "You got the wrong color."

Wei bared his teeth in what was decidedly not a customer service smile. "So sorry, Hansen, but Hello Kitty cover takes three days to ship."

Okay, the bloke didn't have that much of a Chinese accent. Sounded like something out of an old cartoon.

"Seriously, mate, what's your problem?" Although he was actually enjoying himself. Not that he'd admit it. "One minute, you're a prick. The next, you're being nice and shoving food in my mouth -- not appreciated, by the way -- and the next, you're giving me a lap dance -- also not appreciated, and seriously, enough with the coconut shite -- and now we're back to you being a prick. Care to enlighten me, or should I just assume you have multiple personality disorder and proceed to start up a bullshit charity in your name?"

The bastard opened his mouth to respond, then caught sight of something behind him and lost some of his piss and vinegar. In fact, the little prick actually leaned forward across the counter and fixed him with a glare.

"Did Raleigh have a bag of candy when you got here Thursday?"

On guard, he tried to figure the bloke's angle but came up empty. "Yeah. Why?"

Wei sighed and actually looked contrite. "Because if he is on second family size bag, he needs us not to fight anymore."

He frowned. "What the--"

But the bloke abruptly stood up and put his asshole expression back on. "Go kiss your boyfriend. Looks like he needs it."

Lost, he eyed the little bastard for a moment before turning to look for Raleigh who did, indeed, have an enormous bag of assorted sweets tucked under his arm. Frowning, he picked up his phone and its box and headed that way.

"Oi, Becket." When Raleigh looked up and smiled, he felt himself softening and grinning. That fucking smile just had that effect on him these days. "What's with you and sweets?"

He blinked, then glanced down at the bag and looked sheepish. "Oh. Uh... fun fact about Raleigh, I have a stress sweet tooth. Remember when I said my sweet tooth depends on what mood you're in?"

"Oi! I've been in a great mood, you wanker!"

That earned him a chuckle. "Calm down, pumpkin, or that blood vessel in your forehead's gonna pop like an inner tube."

Just for that, he charley horsed the bastard in the arm. Oops. It was the left arm, which might still ache from last night's cold dousing.

"Ow! Hey! It's not you, okay? Just... the whole situation. I have a feeling I'll need some extra ammo tomorrow."

Oh. For the wedding. In a barn.

"Seriously, mate, how nice a barn are we talking here?"

To his amazement, Becket snickered and actually wrapped an arm around his neck, pulling him in for a sideways cuddle. It was a friendly gesture, nothing more, but Chuck felt himself warming to it, just the same.

So he blustered, uncomfortable. "Yeah, yeah. I notice you didn't answer the question, so here's another one for you: this godforsaken town got wifi anywhere? I have thirty-seven emails. _Thirty-seven_. I'm not using all my data for anything that's not Angry Birds."

"Yeah, next door at the bookstore." But the bloke paused and offered him a big brown-paper bag with carry handles. "Um... here. I threw in some new boots, a pair of jeans, and some heavy-duty socks. I brought extra socks of my own, and you're welcome to them, but... you know. Thought you might be more comfortable with your own."

Chuck blinked, absurdly touched by the gesture and unsure how to express it without saying exactly the wrong thing. The bloke must have seen his indecision trying to find something casual and comfortable to wear this morning and thought....

Jesus. Raleigh Fucking Becket.

Since he didn't know how to react, he just took the bag and quirked a half grin. "Thanks, mate. 'Preciate it, yeah?"

Raleigh, good bloke that he was, just nodded, then tilted his head toward the exit. Subdued, Chuck tucked his phone's box away in the bag and followed when Becket led, both of them waving at the giant Russian on the way out.

The bookshop was indeed right next door, but Chuck had to stop and snicker at the name neatly printed on the window.

Becket paused, grinning a little. "What?"

"So you got Becket's Hardware and Becket's General Store and Becket's Car Wash and Becket's Cafe, but not Becket's Books?"

Because the bookshop's name was Cherno Alpha, which meant nothing to him but that the Russians clearly owned this one fair and square.

Raleigh's grin went wry. "Yeah, well... Dad doesn't have that much of a sense of humor. He sold the store when I stuck to my major after the first year."

He shook his head. "No offense, mate, but your dad really knows how to hold a grudge."

"You have no idea."

They walked into the bookstore, and Chuck was reluctantly charmed by the old-fashioned bell ringing overhead as the door bumped it. Everything about the shop was comfortable and nostalgic and, honestly, reminded him of why he loved books so much in the first place. Yeah, he liked making a bloody fortune, but he also loved reading. Holding a manuscript in his hand and knowing he was the first person besides the author to read something that might end up on one of these shelves. Knowing he could help put it there.

Another thing he and Becket had in common.

So it wasn't saving the world. He still fucking liked it. And he liked this shop, too.

"Ah, dragotsennyy!" Mrs. Kaidanovsky smiled down from her high counter, the expression both welcoming and fierce. "And you have brought your malen'kiy voin. Very nice to see you both. You have come to see your books on my shelves, yes?"

Raleigh strolled over, comfortable as could be, and leaned on the counter. "Sorry to disappoint, but Chuck's just here to steal your wifi. Do you mind?"

She shot Chuck another of those up-and-down, appraising glances. "Nyet, little Becket. I will keep watch on your man while you catch up to Miss Mori, yes?"

Becket's eyes shot to the front windows, and sure enough, there she went. Chuck's heart sank a little, but he made no move to protest. To Raleigh's eternal credit, he didn't go running out immediately but looked at Chuck first. What could he do but smile and nod?

Mrs. Kaidanovsky leaned over the counter, watching like Chuck did. "Do not fear, voin. He has the eyes only for you, yes? Mako is only...." She gestured vaguely. "Mako is Mako."

And that was the rub. Because Mako was one hell of a woman, and Raleigh deserved better than Chuck.

A gentle hand touched his shoulder, and he abruptly realized he was looking at the floor instead of answering his emails, which was the whole damn reason he was here. Sighing, he looked around at this severe Russian lady who was being way too kind to him.

"The armchair by the window. It is comfortable, yes? My wifi works just as well there as here."

He frowned a little, glancing at the chair, which was only a few feet away from where Becket had caught up with Mori just outside the glass. "I'm not gonna spy on them."

She smiled, and again, it was both kind and fierce. "Of course you would not. But... I think you would benefit from what they say. Things are not always how they seem when we look with our hearts."

One eyebrow rose. "Do you write poetry?"

Both of her eyebrows rose, but she seemed pleased by the suggestion. "You think I should?"

Despite himself, he smirked. "I happen to know a good publishing house."

She let out a sharp bark of laughter, then shoved him gently but firmly away from the counter. "Save your charm for your byt' lyubimoy¹, little Hansen. My heart is already sworn."

Though he felt like he'd spent fully half of this trip listening at keyholes, as it were, he grudgingly settled in the chair -- and yes, it was ridiculously comfortable, especially when he kicked his feet up on the perfectly positioned ottoman -- put down his bag of casual gear, and pulled out his phone. It wasn't eavesdropping if he was working, right?

But the window must not be properly sealed, because he could faintly hear the conversation happening just outside. Dammit.

"--not been sleeping, have you?" That was Mori.

Becket shifted, shoving his hands in his pockets. "That's not exactly unusual, though."

"Raleigh."

"It was a hard night, okay?" The bloke sighed. "The storm. I just... I had a nightmare. Went for a little stroll outside without knowing it."

It was Mori's turn to sigh. "I thought you didn't do that anymore. You said--"

"I don't." But the overgrown puppy was nothing if not honest. "In New York. It's different there. Here, it's... all around me."

"...I see." She sounded... sad. So terribly, painfully sad. "Have you told Chuck?"

His ears perked up at his name, his phone forgotten as he watched them out of the corner of his eye.

Becket nodded. "He found me out there and brought me back in. I figured he deserved an explanation, since he got himself soaked in the process."

Her shoulders slumped. "Oh, Raleigh, you're just now telling him? You're engaged, you know."

The bloke's head hung, and Chuck shifted uncomfortably.

"I... I didn't want him to know." Raleigh's Adam's apple bobbed on a hard swallow. "I didn't want him to hate me."

Was that the truth, or was that just to cover for why they were only just now exchanging painful histories when they were supposed to have been in love for months?

"And what did he say?" She looked like she was preparing to be angry, and Chuck decided right then and there that he liked Mako Mori. She was ready to do battle if Chuck had reacted badly to Raleigh's story.

Thankfully, he hadn't, and his fiancé hurried to defend him.

"That it wasn't my fault, of course. And that Dad doesn't blame me."

"Raleigh, _no one_ blames you. Even the company admitted full liability for the accident without once trying to turn it against you." She put a hand on his arm. "You did everything you could. You were only trying to help."

But Becket shook his head, and Chuck fought the urge to run out there and wrap the bloke up in a blanket and a cuddle and yell, "It's not your bloody fault!" in his face until he believed it.

"I don't... can we just... I didn't actually come out here to talk about that." The bloke forced a grin that didn't reach his eyes. "I have good news."

Her smile was small but much more real than Becket's. "Yes, I heard. You're getting married tomorrow."

"No!" God, the bastard was adorable when he blushed. "I mean, yes, we are, but that's not... Shattered is picking up your book. Twenty thousand copies, first run."

_...Holy shit._

That's why the manuscript was so goddamn important to Raleigh. It wasn't about setting his reputation with the publishing house at all. It was Mako Mori's goddamn book.

Of course, now that he knew the bloke better, it made perfect sense. Of course Raleigh Fucking Becket would bargain for someone else's gain whilst signing his own life away for the next three years.

Chuck wanted to be pissed. He didn't even know why. Just... fucking Becket... being such a self-sacrificing... _fuck_.

Mori had her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide. "Raleigh, you didn't!"

Didn't what?

But Becket didn't blush this time. In fact, he looked smug. "I did. All I had to do was adjust the formatting a bit to fit the submission guidelines and print it off. It's _good_ , Mako. I couldn't put it down."

_That. Bastard._

Raleigh Fucking Becket had printed off his old girlfriend's opus and submitted it without her permission or knowledge, and had then proceeded to bargain his own future to get it accepted.

Okay, that wasn't entirely true. If Chuck was honest, he'd quite liked the story. It was rough and had all the earmarks of a first submission, but if it hadn't been his valuable assistant submitting it, he'd have taken it in a heartbeat, no questions asked. He could work with a new author, and he'd definitely recognized the talent in every line.

Not that he'd tell Raleigh that. Although he might tell Mako at some point, just in case she ever found out and got the wrong idea.

"Raleigh, I... it was just a first draft! I didn't even... I wasn't going to... I... they accepted it?"

And goddamn it, but he couldn't be mad when Raleigh looked so goddamn happy. Not even smug any more. Just happy that this woman he loved was happy.

Chuck looked away when she leaned up and pressed her forehead to Becket's. Raleigh leaned down to make the gesture easier, but Chuck focused on his emails, which he couldn't give two shits about at this point, yet still needed his attention.

He kept at it until they finished up and went their separate ways, Raleigh coming back into the bookshop to check Chuck's progress. He still had a few emails to sort, but he mentally pushed them to the backburner the second the bell over the door tinkled.

"You ready to head back?"

He wasn't sure, but he nodded and put away his phone, anyway. Bag in hand, he waved at Mrs. Kaidanovsky and followed his bullshit fiancé out into the street, unsure what to make of everything he'd heard. The missus had told him the conversation would benefit him, but Chuck didn't think that's what had happened. In fact, he felt more conflicted than ever.

They walked in silence for a while until Raleigh offered him a sweet. He raised an eyebrow at the unfamiliar red cellophane but took it anyway.

"You okay?"

He sighed and tried to get his head in the game. "Just tired, I guess. Rough night for both of us, yeah?"

Becket nodded, hands in his pockets. Uncomfortable and wishing they could go back to this morning's snarky sniping about Mamie being a goddamn troll and Raleigh thinking it was so damn funny, Chuck unwrapped the weird red sweet, shrugged, and popped it in his mouth.

Despite himself, he smiled. Cinnamon.

"Do you really drink cinnamon double-shot mocha lattes with whole milk and extra foam?"

Surprised at the out-of-nowhere question, Raleigh blinked at him. "I do." He grinned sheepishly. "It's like really good hot cocoa, but with coffee added." And now he shrugged. "Seemed easy enough to just get two of the same thing when I already liked most of it anyway."

Pleased by the answer without really knowing why, Chuck savored the heady cinnamon flavor on his tongue for a moment before shoving the sweet over into his cheek to speak more easily.

"So... uh... Mako looks nice today, yeah?"

Again surprised, the bloke shot him a complex look. "She did, yeah."

_I swear I'm not trying to make trouble, mate._

"Must be good seeing her again. Getting back in touch."

The bloke shrugged. "We never lost touch, really, but yeah. It's good to see her. She's...." He huffed and looked down at the sidewalk as it passed beneath them. "I don't know what I'd do without her."

He nodded. "It's good to have people like that."

Not that he knew that from experience. Other than Becket, he'd never trusted anyone to just implicitly have his back. And even Becket probably only did it because it was his job. And his nature.

"Bonjour, garçons!"

They both turned to look up the gentle rise they'd just walked down, where Raleigh's mum and Mamie stood at the top, waving at them.

"Oi, why do they keep calling us waiters?"

Laughing a bit, Raleigh gaped at him. "What are you talking about?"

"Garçon. Isn't that what you call the waiter at a French restaurant?"

This time, the bloke threw his head back with the laugh, but Chuck didn't have it in him to be mad. The gorgeous bastard looked too good laughing. Ought to do it more often, really.

"Chuck, that... 'garçon' just means 'boy'. They're just lumping us together." Another chuckle. "I so want to tell Mamie you think she's been calling you a waiter this whole time."

"Oi, don't you dare!" Another charley horse, this time on the right side. "She's already trying to grow me a fucking uterus!"

The wanker was still snickering when Dominique and Mamie joined them, both smiling brightly at the obvious good mood. Chuck couldn't help but be proud of himself, even as he blushed.

He was going to have to learn French. The Becket family was having way too much fun at his expense.

"You are having a good time, yes?" Dominique beamed. "Wonderful! Now, mon fils, kiss your lovely amour because we have come to steal him away from you."

"You what now?" Unable to help himself, he edged closer to Raleigh's side.

Mamie chuckled at the move. "Non, do not worry, bel homme. No strippers, no chanting in the woods. You will be safe this time."

He narrowed his eyes. "That's what you said last time."

Raleigh elbowed him, though the bastard was still grinning. Chuck elbowed him back.

"Now, you come with us." Dominique reached out and took his arm, threading hers through it and leading him away. "Raleigh, Hu says he has just what you're looking for in stock. I told him I would send you to him, yes? Oh, and here--"

She snatched the bag out of Chuck's hand and tossed it back to Raleigh without breaking her stride. Mamie immediately took up his now-free arm. A little stunned by how quickly and completely they'd commandeered him, he craned his head around to give his equally wide-eyed fiancé a desperate look. Raleigh just shrugged.

"I'll just... when you're done, I'll be in the boat, okay? Chuck?"

"I...." But they were already halfway back up the hill, so he just nodded. "Right. See you then?"

And that was that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¹ - beloved


	26. Chapter 26

Chuck was pretty sure this kind of thing was better done in theory than in practice. Mamie wanted him to wear the suit her husband wore when they married in 1942. Unfortunately, Chuck was pretty sure that 1940s French men weren't built like twenty-first century Australians, because he couldn't get half the buttons on either the shirt or the patterned vest to slot -- at the top, thanks, not over his stomach -- and if he did up the fly, his balls would never forgive him. And the trouser cuffs hit above his ankles.

He hadn't even tried the jacket yet. He was a bit afraid he'd rip it right down the back just trying to shrug it on.

"Oi, Mamie?"

Thank God they'd at least given him a changing stall. The goddamn trousers were making him self-conscious about his thighs. He wasn't a footballer, by any stretch, but he was pretty sure he looked like a walking musculature chart in these pants. Too bad Raleigh wasn't here to get a good look at his ass before it split the back seam.

"I don't think tailoring will quite do the trick."

"Ah, non." Well, shit. She actually sounded disappointed. "Can we not at least see if it is possible? You are so much more strapping than my Laurent, yes, but I had so hoped...."

Sighing, he girded himself up to look absolutely ridiculous in public. Maybe they'd just have a laugh over it before sending him to a proper shop for a fitting.

So, keeping his breath shallow for fear of the few buttons he _had_ been able to slot flying off on the first big inhale, he stepped out into Mamie's honest to God tailoring shop. He was both relieved that it was closed for the weekend and feeling unfairly shanghaied into a locked building with no hope of rescue.

He stood there carefully, cheeks and ears on fire, and waited for the verdict.

Dominique tactfully covered her mouth. Mamie laughed her ass off.

Bless her heart, but Dominique tried to cover. "It is... well... you are...." Blushing herself as she tried to keep a straight face, she finally fanned herself. "Oh, Chuck. Raleigh is a lucky, lucky man."

That set Mamie off worse, and she actually had to sit down, one hand over her heart. Oh, how he wanted to cross his arms and sulk, but he didn't dare. He settled for covering his practically-exposed junk instead. Besides, the shirt, vest, and trousers were all more than seventy years old, and he had no intention of being the asshole who shredded Mamie's dead husband's wedding suit by Hulking out.

"Can I take it off now?"

Mamie, that traitor, pulled out a goddamn smart phone while she was still laughing and took a picture.

"Oi! Don't send that to Raleigh!"

"Ha-ha!" She quickly hid her phone away. "And now I have the... how you say... blackmail material, yes? You will trust me to let out the suit to fit you?"

He sighed. Carefully. "Mamie, I don't think--"

But Dominique gently interrupted. "Do not let the fit fool you, mon cher. Mamie is the best tailor in Alaska. If it can be done, she can do it."

Mamie finally took a bit of pity on him. "I fear the shirt is a loss. Your chest, bel homme, is most impressive." She winked when his blush deepened. "But yes, I can work with the rest. Put on your own clothes again, and I will take the measurements that way, instead."

Relieved that he could at least put on pants that zipped all the way up without threatening the blood supply to his dick, he hobbled carefully back into the changing stall and stripped as carefully as he had dressed. As he did so, the ladies nattered comfortably in the main room. They spoke English, though they'd probably be more comfortable in French, and he appreciated the gesture.

"He will look so handsome in my Laurent's suit." Mamie sighed happily. "I think perhaps a peach silk for the shirt? Could Hu find such a thing on this short notice?"

Ah, so that's where Raleigh had been sent, the lucky bastard. This Hu person clearly owned a proper clothing shop.

"Chuck, would you be comfortable with peach silk? It would be so attractive with the charcoal, yes?"

Dominique hummed her agreement. "And not clash with your hair. So nice a shade, yes?"

"The peach or the ginger?"

The ladies chuckled, and he couldn't help but grin. They were good people, these Becket women. Even if they made him strangle his balls for the wedding tomorrow.

He came out soon enough in his regular clothes, though he left off Raleigh's jumper just yet. It'd likely get in the way of Mamie's measuring, and he always wore a singlet, anyway. Bracing himself for all the snarky comments to come, he stood with his arms out and let her begin, amused as she muttered to herself and jotted notes on a card after each new wrapping of the old-fashioned cloth tape.

"Chuck?"

"Mm?"

Dominique fidgeted with the ivory buttons on the vest as she carefully folded it. "I was thinking... it might be nice, yes, if we... perhaps come to visit in your New York this Christmas?"

She sounded tentative, as if she feared even the question would cause offense. It was so unusual to the Dominique he'd come to know that he couldn't help but frown consideringly as he looked at her.

"That'd be great." His frown softened as her serious expression faded into a soft smile. "Or, you know, we could always come here, too. Whichever is easiest, yeah?"

Though he wasn't sure Raleigh would be up for a return visit so soon. This trip had been hard on the bloke, and not just because of the sham relationship.

And then, Dominique sniffed delicately. "Oui. Oui, Chuck, that would be... très bien."

Her voice cracked, and Chuck felt like the biggest asshole in the world when two huge, glistening tears slid down her cheeks.

"Oi, Dominique, I didn't mean--"

"Non, non," she said, swiping at her cheeks and trying to smile. "It is a wonderful thing. I just...."

Mamie tutted. "Ma fille, we do not have time for the emotions, yes?"

"I know, Maman. Pardon."

But Mamie went to her and held her tight. "Go and make yourself a cup of tea, yes? We will start again then."

Dominique nodded, then surprised Chuck by tugging his arm until he leaned down so she could kiss his cheek. Then, she hurried out of the shop, still swiping at her eyes.

"What'd I say? I didn't mean to hurt her. I thought she _wanted_ \--"

Mamie tutted again and patted his arm. "It is not you, bel homme." She sighed and pulled him over to a bench under the window, then sat and patted the seat beside her. He joined her, of course. "Ma fille has suffered much loss. This you know, yes?"

Oh. Right. How long had it been since she'd had her only remaining child home for the holidays? God, how did she put on such a brave face? No wonder she'd been scared to even voice the question.

Lowering his eyes, he nodded. "Raleigh told me about Yancy. Said it was like Dominique lost both her sons that day."

"Oui. That is it précisément." Mamie tilted her head, still so birdlike in her movements and her sharp attention. "But that is all he told you?"

He felt his stomach sink. "There's more?"

"He was very young. It might not have felt as much to him as Yancy's death. They were so close, yes? And he had to see...." She stopped herself, her chin quivering. Then, she firmed it and went on.

These Becket women -- no, these _LaPierre_ women -- were made of steel.

"Perhaps I should begin further back still. Did Raleigh tell you that ma fille ran away to be married?"

He hadn't, but Chuck could absolutely see it. Dominique did just as she pleased, though he couldn't see her being mean about getting her own way. More... sweetly determined.

"Ah, it was the scandal, yes? She fell in love with an American sailor on holiday." Mamie rolled her eyes. "Such romance. Such folly. She said she would have this Richard Becket or she would have no one. But the LaPierres are from noble stock, and--"

"Whoa, whoa." He hated to interrupt just as Mamie was hitting her stride, but.... "Noble?"

Primping, Mamie sat up straighter. "Mais oui. Did you not know you were wedding the third in line for the title of duc de Bauffremont?"

He blinked. "Raleigh's a duke?"

She waved a tiny hand. "Is close enough, yes? Third in line. But yes, ma fille should have better than a common American sailor. Laurent and I, we put down the foot and said non, you will marry higher, you are young, he will be nothing but the trouble for you. But does she listen? Does any youth listen?"

This sigh was more theatrical than emotional, but Chuck barely heard it. He was still stuck on the fact that Raleigh was in line for some kind of French title. Wasn't a duke only a step or so down from a prince?

_What the fuck, Raleigh. That's not something you spring on a bloke the day before the wedding._

"She ran away to America and settled in Alaska, and we think we would never hear from her again. Laurent was devastated and refused to speak with her. She was angry and defiant and refused to speak with him."

Seriously. A duke.

"Even when she has a beautiful son, she does not speak. And another son, so sweet and loyal. And they have two businesses in the town, and still, she does not speak." This time, the sigh was real. "And then le bébé, the third one, a girl... she dies at birth, and ma fille is heart-broken with the loss."

Well, shit. Dominique had basically lost all three of her children. And Raleigh had lost two siblings, one before he ever knew her and the other he'd known far too well.

"And Richard... he takes to the drink. And when ma fille does not heal from the pregnancy, when she is sick, he leaves."

He frowned. "Wait. Wait, he what?"

Mamie nodded, her features hard. "He could not bear the loss of a child, but he also could not stay and watch his love wither away. He was... not in his mind."

 _Too fucking right_ , he wanted to say but didn't. Damn. He'd finally started to feel a bit sorry for the bloke, but this...?

"The boys, they were young, but Yancy... oh, he was so smart. Always so responsible, even as a child. He found ma fille's address book and called us in Saint-Sauveur. I come here, of course. Laurent, he says she reaps what she sows, but I come anyway. And I love my precious boys on sight and take them to my heart. And ma fille, she heals and she forgives me for the long years, and she says that Richard is wrong, yes, but he is wrong because he loves too much."

Chuck didn't have to ask to know Mamie's opinion on that statement.

"And she carries on. You see how our Raleigh endures? He learned from his maman. She had two boys and two businesses, and when she had her health, she took them all in hand. And when Richard comes back, weak and drunk and crying how so sorry he is, she says non."

"Fuck yeah!" He clapped a hand over his mouth. "Sorry, just... good on her, yeah?"

Mamie smiled and patted his hand. "If I had the English then, I would say the same. I was so proud. She has always been so strong. She said she would not have a drunk in the house with her boys, and she would not take him back unless he proved he would not leave his responsibilities again."

God, he was on the edge of his seat. "So how'd he do it?"

Mamie waved this off. "He went to the rehab first, of course. And when he was clean, he signed over both businesses to her and asked her to hire him to work for her. If he kept his job for two years, she would take him back."

Since the bloke had clearly managed it, he skipped to the real question. "And Raleigh and Yancy? Did _they_ forgive him?"

Here, she hedged, uncomfortable for the first time. "Chuck, you are a good boy, but you must understand. Richard had abandoned them. Their mother lay dying. Their new baby sister was already gone. They were... all alone for a week before they found the book and I could come to help. And after, they both worked in the shops to keep them open, as did I." She met his eyes, hers dark and intent but... hesitant. "I am not sure either of them ever forgave him." One tiny shoulder rose in something of a shrug. "It is... why they were so close, yes? They had only each other."

He blinked. "Wait, you're expecting me to side with Dick?"

 _She_ blinked. Then, she laughed. "Oh! Oh, that is  véritable, trés bien!¹ Oh, I will be using that, merci!"

Grinning, he shook his head. "Now you have something to call him when he calls you Maggie, yeah?"

"Oui. I do like you, Chuck. You have the good head on your shoulders." She winked. "And very good shoulders, too, yes?"

"Oi!" Blushing, he got up and grabbed Becket's jumper, pulling it on over his singlet. "But really, Mamie... thank you for telling me. I...." Suddenly, it was hard to swallow. "I've not had a mum for a long time, and Dominique has been so kind." He shrugged, shifting awkwardly. "You all have, really. I know... it couldn't have been easy to... find out like this, yeah?"

If it was possible to feel worse about lying to an entire family, Chuck suddenly did. They'd already had so much struggle, so much tragedy, and now, some random bloke was stirring them all up again for no good reason.

He was a selfish prick. He hadn't stopped to consider that Raleigh had family, that Raleigh would have to lie to them. And not just a small lie, no. A lie of such magnitude--

"Non, non, mon cher." Suddenly, she was right before him, her hands on his arms. She was such a tiny thing that her head barely reached his chest, but she held him with the sheer force of her personality. "You listen to me, yes?"

Miserable, he nodded.

"My Raleigh has been so alone. It is no secret that he is my favorite, just as Yancy was Richard's. I see so much of ma fille in him. So maybe I am not... how to say... fair? Is close enough." Her eyes bored into his. "I do not care if he wants a man. I do not care if he never has children. I do not care if he never comes home again." She leaned closer, as if she could possibly have his attention more. "I care if he is _happy_. You, Chuck, make him happy."

He immediately protested, but she stopped him with a squeeze and a gentle shake.

"He laughs." She sighed, finally pulling away and letting him go. "It has been so long since my precious boy has laughed."

She turned away and rummaged around in a box of knicknacks on her sewing table. When she returned, she reached for his hand. Still miserable and feeling guilty as fuck, he reluctantly gave it to her. She turned it palm up and placed a set of cufflinks there, then closed his fingers over them.

Frowning, he looked at them the second she removed her hands. They were old, heavy gold, set with large pearls, and antique. _Very_ antique. He was no expert, but if these were less than a hundred years old, he'd eat them on his own wedding day.

"These have been in the LaPierre line for a hundred and fifty years. My Laurent never forgave me for coming here to be with ma fille, but when he died, he left these for Yancy. I suppose they would go to Raleigh now, but...." She smiled a bit. "My Dominique, she learned her ways from somewhere, yes? I do as I like, and I like to give them to you. You are family now, bel homme. They are yours."

His throat clenched and he tried to hand them back.

"Non, I will not. I am your Mamie now, and I say they are yours."

This was all wrong. He couldn't do this. Wordless, he shook his head, his eyes stinging.

Mamie's brows drew together. "Chuck, chéri, are you all right?"

No way out. The LaPierre women were iron. She wouldn't take the damn cufflinks back, and he couldn't accept what they meant. Swallowing hard, he slipped them into his pocket and tried to make his mouth work. It didn't want to.

"I... Mamie, I...."

He wanted to tell her everything. He couldn't. Not after everything she'd said. Not after what Raleigh had told him. Not after Dominique had all but broken down over a simple invitation for a visit during the holidays.

"I just... will you have time to make those alterations?" The expression on his face couldn't possibly look like a smile. "I'm a pretty big bloke, yeah?"

Her concern fled on a smile, and she actually reached out and cuddled him for a moment. "Worry not, mon cher. You will be far more handsome than my Laurent." She pulled back and gently knocked her knuckles under his chin. "You already are, yes?"

_I have to get out of here. I can't do this._

Nerves and conscience screaming, he gestured toward the door, hoping his hand wasn't shaking. "So, do you have what you need from me?"

"Oui, bel homme." She winked. "You may go find your amour now."

It took everything he had not to run. Unfortunately, he had a sinking feeling there was nowhere left for him to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¹ - perfect, very good!


	27. Chapter 27

Raleigh hadn't laid back in a boat and soaked up the sun in more years than he cared to count. The gentle motion of the water and its quiet lapping at the rocks and the dock. The cool breeze ruffling his hair. The quiet.

He'd missed this. New York was never quiet. He liked the excitement there, the way the constant motion reminded him that he was alive... but sometimes he hated it, too. Sometimes it was _too_ loud, _too_ busy, too... _alive_.

He'd tried on three suits before finding one he liked. For his wedding. Tomorrow. It was hard to wrap his head around, but... oddly enough, he didn't dread it. He was nervous, yes, but the past few days made him think that the next three years might be okay.

Before he could think about that too hard, though, he heard rapid, heavy footfalls descending the ladder. Grinning, he looked to make sure it was Chuck before sitting up and keying the motor. The poor guy looked a little winded, as if he'd run here all the way from Mamie's shop, so he offered a hand into the boat, then reached over to unwind the mooring line.

"If you have to take a leak, I'm not stopping in middle of the bay for it because that's disgusti--"

The boat lurched forward and away from the dock, and he damn near fell out with the sudden movement. For a second, he feared he hadn't gotten the rope free in time, but they didn't hang up at the end of it, so he didn't bother with it. Instead, he spun around to see Chuck, jaw set and eyes hard, pushing the throttle forward and steering them haphazardly out into the open water.

Chuck. Driving a boat. Into open water. Quite a step up from just not wanting the life jacket.

"Chuck?" He could barely hear himself over the boat's engine. It shouldn't be revving that hard. "What's wrong?"

Because his fiancé looked about five miles from all right. In fact, he was tempted to think Chuck had been crying. His face was blotchy red, his eyes bloodshot.

"Can you slow down, please? Do you even know how to drive a b--"

"Dammit, Ray, just shut up for a bit, yeah?"

Okay, he'd sensed Chuck's mood changing after the whole email thing, but he'd thought maybe his boss was worrying about work. So what the hell was this?

"Seriously, Chuck. What's happening right now?"

That hard jaw clenched further to the point where Raleigh honestly worried about his teeth.

"Chuck?"

The ginger head twitched.

"Chuck!"

"I didn't fucking know, okay??"

Completely lost, he held onto the back of a seat and tried not to reach over and take the wheel. "Didn't know what?"

"What I was getting you into, goddammit! I didn't know you had this whole family history. I've been on my own since before university, and it never fucking occurred to me that I'd be screwing over a bloke what lost his brother and lying to a mum what lost all three of her kids and stirring up all their shit and making it worse!"

What the hell had happened? It'd only been a couple of hours.

"Chuck, what are you talking about?"

"I didn't know people would be nice about it! Okay? I didn't know your mum would want spend Christmas with us or your grandmum would give me the family cufflinks or that... Jesus, Raleigh, they just want you to be happy, and I'm fucking it all up!"

His boss was practically crying, and Raleigh had no idea what to do. All he knew was that this wasn't safe at all, and if Chuck had ever piloted a boat, it had been more than twenty years ago and he was clearly out of practice.

"You're not fucking anything up. Chuck, I chose this, remember? I even made you _ask_ me, for God's sake!"

"You're a fucking _duke_ , and I'm a selfish wanker from fucking Australia, and oh, my God, if they all find out--"

"They're not gonna find out!"

Finally, Chuck shot him a wide-eyed glare, but the look was so full of pain, of fear, that Raleigh couldn't be mad about it.

" _How do you know that?_ What if your mum finds out we've been lying to them this whole time? She asked to come for Christmas, Raleigh! When she finds out, it'll break her fucking heart, and your wanker of a dad already did that and I feel like shit about it! And what if Mamie finds out? Jesus Christ, Raleigh, she's ninety fucking years old and she's gonna have a heart attack--"

He let go of the wheel to put his hands to his head, and Raleigh shouted in warning, lurching that way. Thank God, but Chuck shuffled out of his path, fingers fisting in his hair as he stumbled over where the seat was bolted into the floor.

"Chuck, Jesus, you can't just let go of the wheel like that!" Heart pounding, Raleigh got control of the boat and tried to bring some kind of order to the chaos. "Look, Mamie is not going to find out. None of them ever have to know. Everything will be fine; you said so yourself!"

Almost moaning with distress, Chuck stumbled back a few steps to lean against the edge of the boat, his eyes huge in his pale, blotchy face. "Ray, I don't want to hurt anyone. I can't do that. Please tell me I'm not doing that."

"What?"

But the moment's turn of his attention was just enough. He hadn't throttled back, too intent on calming his fiancé down, and the huge buoy came out of nowhere. Cursing, he swerved away from it, and it really wasn't even close, but his hands were shaking and his heart was up in his throat, and it felt like he just barely scraped past it.

"Jesus! Okay. Chuck, listen to me. You're not gonna--" He turned to see if the poor guy still looked on the verge of tears, but Chuck wasn't there. "Chuck?"

"Raleigh!"

And now his heart was strangling him. Chuck was in the water, already small with distance, and the water was damn near freezing and Chuck didn't swim, maybe couldn't, and _he wasn't wearing the goddamn life jacket_.

"Chuck! Fuck, get to the buoy! I'm coming back!" Panicking, he spun the boat in as narrow an arc as he could, already easing the throttle back up. "Get to the buoy!"

He had no idea if Chuck could even hear him.

"Chuck, for fuck's sake, please! Just kick your legs! _Get to the buoy!_ "

Slowly -- God, so fucking slowly -- that ginger head bobbed toward the swaying red-painted float, and as much as he hated to do it, Raleigh had to slow down. Otherwise, he'd overshoot and he wasn't sure he had time for another come-around.

"I'm coming, Chuck. Get a good hold, and I'll get you."

Gasping and shuddering too hard for words, Chuck finally got ahold of the buoy, and Raleigh felt something inside himself twist. He'd get there. He had to.

Gauging the slowdown by guess and by gosh, he cut the throttle entirely and left the wheel to lean over the edge, already stretching down before he could possibly reach.

"Chuck, you're safe now. Just reach out and take my hand, okay?"

He tried. Shuddering, either with terror or with the cold -- which had to be brutal -- Chuck tried to let go and reach out, but the buoy was secure under his hands and he couldn't seem to make himself give it up completely.

"Chuck, please, I'm right here, but I can't get any closer. C'mon, honey, just reach out a little, okay? I've got you, I swear."

Wide, terrified blue-green-grey eyes met his, and Raleigh felt sick.

"Please, Chuck. I'm right here."

Nodding as best he could with such powerful shudders racking him, Chuck gathered himself and lunged away from the buoy, letting go with both hands and reaching with blind faith.

And Raleigh caught him. Thank God, but he caught him.

Gripping an icy hand with all his strength, he hauled up and got his other arm around Chuck's waist, wrestling that big body up and into the boat with more desperation than science. Chuck clung to him like a limpet, and Raleigh held him just as tight. For a few seconds, anyway, before frigid water soaked into his clothes and he realized his fiancé was far closer to hypothermia than Raleigh had been last night.

Working around Chuck's grip, he dug under the bench seat for every dusty old sweater and emergency blanket he could find, swaddling his shuddering boss in layers and chafing his arms and back and hands. Soon enough, he gave up and pulled that big body up against his own between his legs as he sat back against the bench.

Soaked and traumatized and miserable and shivering, Chuck tucked his head under Raleigh's chin, and Raleigh gladly wrapped himself around him.

"I got you. You're all right. I got you. We'll get you warm and everything'll be fine, okay? I got you. You're all right."

He had no idea how many times he repeated it. All he knew was that the boat rocked gently beneath them as they drifted further and further from the buoy and that Chuck's body leaned ever more heavily against his as the shivering slowed and exhaustion set in.

"You all right?"

That chilly, damp head nodded, bumping against his chin.

"Can you say something to prove it?"

Teeth still chattering, Chuck huffed something too tired to be a laugh. "Think I'll take that life vest next time, mate."

Relief flooded him, and he tightened his arms, turning his head a little to bury his nose in Chuck's hair, smelling bay water and a whiff of shampoo and, much fainter, Chuck himself.

"You're getting it whether you want it or not, jackass. You scared the hell out of me."

The ginger bastard snorted, though he cuddled closer, still shivering. "Right, so _I'm_ in the water, but _you're_ the one who's scared?"

He hid his grin in that damp hair. "Ungrateful. Here I am expressing my genuine concern, and you won't even take it. Nice, Chuck. Real nice."

They huddled together a while longer, until the breeze had mostly dried Chuck's hair.

"Why didn't you tell me you're a fucking duke?"

Surprised all over again, he blinked. "Because I'm not one?"

Shifting under all the layers, the ornery bastard tried to jab him in the ribs but couldn't quite manage it. "Yeah, yeah. Next in line or whatever. But still... _fucking duke_."

He rolled his eyes. "The title doesn't mean anything, Chuck. It's not like it comes with any kind of wealth or power, even back in France. It's just a word, and it won't ever apply to me, anyway."

It really _didn't_ mean anything. Some families clung to their old titles, but the French government no longer recognized such things. The rest of the world cared even less. He rarely thought about it unless Mamie brought it up.

Chuck just hmmed under his breath, lying heavily against him. It might have been weird with how things were between them, but it wasn't. It wasn't weird to keep rubbing up and down Chuck's arm over the blankets. It wasn't weird to lay his cheek against Chuck's hair now that it was dry.

But despite all the layers, the poor guy was still soaked through, cold, and exhausted, so Raleigh eventually gave him one last stroke and sighed.

"We should get you back to the house. I'm guessing a warm shower sounds pretty good right now."

Another hmm. "Too right, mate." But Chuck made no move to sit up. "Then again, you're pretty goddamn comfortable."

Honestly, Raleigh could stay here all day, listening to the lull of the waves lapping against the boat, holding onto Chuck's big, solid body to remind himself that he _had_ caught him, he _hadn't_ failed this time, Chuck was real and alive and everything else could fuck off for a while because all those things were still true.

Soon enough, though, Chuck sighed and sat up, still clutching his hodgepodge collection of sweaters and blankets around him. "You're right. We should get back. It's fucking cold out here." He smirked, but didn't seem as potent as his usual smirks. "Pretty sure my balls crawled up into my body at some point, so I'd like to get them back, thanks."

Raleigh laughed, maybe a little too readily, and ignored how his back and neck ached when he finally stood up. He'd been hunched over and tense for too long. He couldn't imagine how achy Chuck had to be.

Rubbing at his left shoulder -- it hadn't appreciated all the theatrics -- he restarted the boat and turned it toward the island, glancing back to make sure Chuck had scooted against the bench on the floor, where he was safest. He somehow doubted today had done much toward helping the poor guy with his fear of boats and open water.

Nothing he could do about it now. All he could do was return the favor from last night and take care of his future husband as best he could.

Starting with getting them back on solid ground.


	28. Chapter 28

Chuck's head hurt. His back hurt. His whole body ached with exhaustion. He was cold and still damp through. God, he wanted a hot shower and a warm bed, and he wouldn't argue with some French toast or a few more of Mamie's madeleines and a cup of strong coffee.

But mostly, he just wanted to stop thinking.

Why couldn't they go back to a few days ago, when his biggest concern was whether or not Beacham would back out of his contract with Netflix? When Becket was his assistant for the foreseeable future, which meant everything would keep spinning along just as it should with no nasty surprises?

Of course, if they did that, he wouldn't know that Raleigh stress-devoured sweets when he was upset. He wouldn't know about the scars over the bloke's heart and down his arm or what they meant. He wouldn't know that kissing him, no matter how falsely or briefly, felt like coming home or that his naked ass could knock every rational thought right out of Chuck's head.

He wouldn't know that Dominique longed for a family Christmas. That Mamie knew the lyrics to _Baby Got Back_. That the Kaidanovskys should write brutal poetry together and that Mako's novel about giant robots controlled by telepathically connected human pilots battling Lovecraftian monsters from another dimension could change the face of science fiction forever.

Though she'd probably have to change the title. Seriously. Just looking at the cover page, no one would ever know the book was about giant robots.

He wouldn't know what it felt like to be wrapped up in blankets and Raleigh's arms, to feel safe when he should feel like the world was ending, to listen to a steady heartbeat and feel his own slow to match it.

Since it was too late to _not_ know those things, he supposed they were good things to know. And, as Raleigh pulled them safely up to the dock and tied them off before helping Chuck up and out of the boat, he gave himself one extra second of leaning into that strength and comfort. He didn't deserve it, and he probably shouldn't accept it, but he couldn't help himself.

Where Raleigh Becket was concerned, Chuck had apparently become weak.

The zig-zagging boardwalk seemed a thousand leagues long, but his faux fiancé put a gentle hand to his back, ready to catch him if he stumbled, so he hung his head and let himself be guided. One foot in front of the other. Nothing else to do.

The boardwalk turned to rocky shoreline turned to grass, and suddenly, Raleigh stopped walking. Bleary-eyed and practically asleep on his feet, Chuck glanced up at him, then awakened a bit at the... anger? dread?... causing the bloke's jaw to tighten. Confused, he looked where Raleigh was looking and saw ol' Dick standing at the top of the path, just where it split to go either to the house or behind it to the barn and other outbuildings.

Raleigh didn't move his hand. If anything, he edged that much closer. Closing ranks, perhaps.

They started walking again, and Chuck tried to bring himself out of the fog. He was exhausted, mentally and physically, but he needed his wits about him. The day had been a shitstorm, but if Dick was about to start trouble, he wanted to have his fiancé's back. Especially now.

When they came to the fork in the path, Dick nodded at them pleasantly enough, but that in itself was suspicious.

"Boys." He gestured toward the barn. "Come with me for a minute."

Dread seemed to seep down Raleigh's arm and in through Chuck's back, and when Dick opened up the Dutch doors on the side of the barn instead of going in the front, he knew, just like that, something was terribly, terribly wrong.

"Hiya, boys." Hannibal Fucking Chau. And his expensive gold-capped smile and shoes. "Toldja I'd be checkin' up on ya."

Raleigh's body was as taut and thrumming as a live electric wire as the bloke actually pressed up against him, physically having his back against this threat. "Dad, what did you do?"

Uh-oh. He'd never heard such ice in Raleigh's voice before.

But Dick didn't look smug. In fact, Dick looked a little sick to his stomach. "I swear I didn't do anything, Raleigh. Mr. Chau here showed up at the house and wanted to talk to you both. He says he thinks you're faking your relationship to keep Chuck from being deported."

If possible, Raleigh stiffened further. "Where's Maman? She didn't see--"

"No. She's not back yet. Son, what's going on? Is... is it true?"

Chau just kept smiling. "Yeah, son? Is it true? Because if it isn't, I have a one-time-only deal for you."

"I'm not interested--"

"Hear me out." The bastard held up a hand, the smile put away. "If you admit this is just a ploy, I let you off the hook and he goes back to Australia." The craggy, bearish face hardened. "If you keep it up, you _will_ be prosecuted, and I'll do my best to make sure you get the full five years and every single cent of the $250,000 fine. And he still goes back to Australia."

"Jesus, mister, you can't just--" Dick stopped as Chau's glare fell on him.

"Well, Becket? Anything to say?"

Chuck lowered his eyes. This was it. Dick would never let Raleigh go to prison for a lie. Raleigh would never throw his whole life away for a three-year farce and a measly editor position, even if it meant Mako's novel got published.

Then, Raleigh's arm wrapped around him, settling on his stomach. "You want a statement, Chau?"

The big bloke nodded, smiling faintly despite the hard edge to his jaw.

"Fine. Here's my statement. I've been working for Chuck Hansen for three years. Six months ago, we had what I thought was a one-night stand at an out-of-state book fair. It wasn't a one-night stand, and we've been dating ever since. A month ago, I proposed with a Transformer I won at Coney Island." That strong arm tightened. "Tomorrow, I'm gonna marry him. That's my statement."

With that, Raleigh turned them both and headed for the door, arm still around his waist. Surprisingly, Dick followed them, only pausing to turn and say, "I guess we'll see you at the wedding tomorrow, Mr. Chau."

Chuck couldn't quite get his head around what just happened. Raleigh had -- hell, even _Dick_ had -- stood by him. Raleigh had dug himself in even deeper, had doubled down, had rejected his "get out of jail free" card. For Chuck.

At least Dick had backed up his son this time, though he probably didn't believe him. Maybe the bloke really had learned from his mistakes. Maybe, if nothing else, one good thing had come from all of this lying and coercion. If Raleigh patched things up with his family, maybe Chuck hadn't fucked everything up, after all.

They didn't speak when they parted ways just inside the house. Raleigh shared a quick but significant handshake with his father, then urged Chuck to the stairs and kept a hand at his back as he trudged wearily up them. He was just so tired. This weekend hadn't gone at all as he'd hoped.

This was supposed to be a business deal, nothing more. What had changed? And when?

Once they were inside Raleigh's room, Chuck just... stopped. Destination achieved. He had no idea what came next.

"I know it's early, but I did some laundry while you were out this morning, so if you wanna just jump right into pajamas when you get out of the shower, you're welcome to them."

He sighed. "Raleigh--"

"Even washed my sweaters, so you have your pick."

"Oi, Ray, listen--"

"Are you hungry? I can throw something together while you're in the shower. What sounds good?"

He sighed, turned around, and met the bloke's worried gaze. "You don't have to do this, mate."

 _If you want out, I won't blame you,_ he tried to say. _I don't want you to go to prison. I just want you to be happy. So many people want you to be happy._

But Raleigh just shrugged. "You'd do the same for me."

No, he wouldn't. Before this weekend, Chuck Hansen would have just been pissed that his best, longest lasting assistant to date had to be replaced, leaving his schedule fucked for the foreseeable future.

Now, though....

"Yeah." He nodded, lowering his head. "I just... I mean, I appreciate it, yeah? But I don't... there's so much more to this than I thought."

They were quiet for a moment, and it was both awkward and comfortable, which seemed about par for the course today. Their new weird, bickering-but-comfortable dynamic had changed somehow, and Chuck didn't know how to get it back. Finally, Raleigh shifted.

"You're tired. You should get that shower."

He _was_ tired, so he nodded and headed for the loo. He closed the door, but Raleigh opened it again before he could so much as unwind from his layers.

"Sorry -- extra towels." The bastard actually had the gall to grin as he dropped the pile on the edge of the sink. "Just in case."

He didn't want to smirk. He really didn't.

His mouth had other ideas. "You really are an asshole, Becket."

"I love you, too, pumpkin."

The bloke disappeared with a smartass little salute, and Chuck gave in and snorted as he stripped. He could do worse. He could do infinitely worse.

The problem was... Raleigh could do so much better.

Didn't matter now, though. The deed was all but done.

So he showered, wearily scrubbing down, aching in every part of himself and looking forward to Raleigh's pajamas with more anticipation than was strictly warranted. They were just flannel pants and a t-shirt, for the most part, but he wanted them.

Maybe he'd ask his faux fiancé to share the bed tonight. As he'd thought last night, it was big enough they wouldn't even have to touch if they wrapped up in their own blankets, so it wouldn't be weird for Raleigh. And it'd get him off the damn floor.

His own bed in New York was almost as big, really. Maybe... they could _always_ do that. Share it.

Did Raleigh have a big bed? If not, if they lived at his place instead of Chuck's, maybe he could move his too-big bed in and share it there. Separately, just... cozy.

Sighing, he dried off with the perfectly adequate towel that was already on the hook, then realized Raleigh hadn't just brought extra towels. The thoughtful sod had also brought in boxer briefs, a pair of flannel pants, one of those impossibly soft grey t-shirts, and a thick pair of socks.

Raleigh's socks, he'd wager. They didn't look new.

He shook his head but didn't go looking for his own. Raleigh's were probably more comfortable, anyway. Everything of Raleigh's was more comfortable than his own, which likely said something about him he didn't want to know.

Becket wasn't in the room when he stepped out of the loo, so he wrapped up in the baby-maker and headed downstairs, sock-footed, to hunt him down. The bloke _had_ said something about food, after all.

The heavenly scent of frying bacon hit him about halfway down the steps, and he followed his nose to the kitchen. Raleigh stood at the stove in his perfectly-fitting jeans and a henley with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, flipping bacon and poking consideringly at the yolk of an egg frying in a separate pan. The gorgeous bastard must have heard him coming because he gave him that devastating smile over his shoulder and waved with the spatula.

"I hope you like breakfast for dinner, because that's kind of my favorite thing."

Grinning, he sat down on a stool at the breakfast bar. "Duly noted."

Becket raised an eyebrow.

"What? You think I'm gonna argue with bacon at any hour?"

Unimpressed, the bloke went back to flipping strips. "Should I remind you about the time you argued that Americans were just being stubborn when they started taking the U out of European spellings?"

"Oi! That is a legitimate point! You lot have been thumbing your noses at the Queen's English so long you don't even remember you're doing it."

The rotten sod snorted. "Thank you for proving my point."

Rolling his eyes, though he was oddly relieved by the bickering, he leaned back on the stool and crossed his arms. "Remind me to fire you when we get back to work Monday."

Crispy strips went onto a stack of paper towels. "Will do, boss. So we'll be living off your salary then?"

Chuck grunted, caught but not particularly fussed about it. "Well, fuck."

Snickering, Becket slid a plate of bacon and eggs across the bar at him, then joined him with his own plate and a saucer of toast. And another saucer with four madeleines.

"Oi, are these--"

"Just for you, sweetcheeks." The gorgeous sod actually winked.

His heart tripped a step. "You deliberately didn't eat these... for me?"

Raleigh just shrugged and crunched a piece of bacon, and Chuck had to look away. It was such a stupid, tiny thing, but... it was sweet. Since he didn't know what to do with the gesture, he picked up a madeleine and took a bite, savoring the sweet, buttery flavor. So goddamn good.

"Thanks, mate."

"Welcome, boss."

They ate in companionable silence, occasionally elbowing each other like little kids. It felt more natural than anything had since that morning, and he finally felt himself relax a little. He even, for no real reason, reached over and stole some of his fiancé's bacon. It felt like the thing to do.

Said fiancé gave him the stink eye but didn't actually protest.

"Doesn't this look cozy?"

Chuck startled at the deep, somehow familiar but unexpected voice, and he and Raleigh turned as one to the entryway. The big, black British gent from the welcome party -- he couldn't remember the name, just that the bloke was the mayor and had adopted Mako -- stood at parade rest, hands clasped behind his back, a faint smile on his lips.

Raleigh's eyebrows rose. "Hey, marshal. You looking for Dad?"

Right. And the bloke was a marshal. He remembered that, too. Pendergraft, maybe? Close, but not quite right.

"Actually, Mr. Becket, I'm looking for Mr. Hansen, there."

Chuck's eyebrows rose. "Me?"

If he didn't know better, he'd swear the marshal mayor looked... embarrassed? Uncomfortable at least, as he lowered his eyes to the floor.

"Forgive me, Mr. Hansen, but an apology might be due. I... perhaps I overstepped my bounds."

Okay, this was so not the day for this. He'd already been through a wringer and was just starting to feel normal again.

"I didn't tell you the other day, but I recognized your name." Dark eyes met his for a moment before returning to the floor. "Well, not _your_ name, exactly, but I remembered this crazy RAAF pilot I had a few missions with back when I was still active duty. His name was Herc Hansen--"

The blood rushed from his face, leaving him light-headed.

"--and the last mission we went on together, he showed me a picture of his newborn son, Charlie."

His voice was weak, but he managed a question whilst Raleigh put a hand on his forearm. "Why are you telling me this?"

Again, Pentagram looked abashed. "Because I rang him up that night, and he got on a plane the next day, and now he's standing on Raleigh's front porch, hoping you'll come out and speak to him."

Everything went a bit fuzzy. Distantly, he heard Raleigh murmuring his name and tried to make himself listen to what he was saying.

"Chuck? Are you with me?" The fingers on his forearm squeezed gently. "What do you want me to do? If you want me to send him away, I'll do it."

Oh. Right. His old man was at the door. At Raleigh's house in Alaska. When he was supposed to be in Australia being glad to never have to see his son again.

What the fuck even was today? Was the World Tree pissed at him for unwittingly praying to it with lyrics about shapely asses?

"Chuck?" This time, the bloke was close enough that he felt the warmth of his breath on the side of his face. "Just tell me what to do. Let me do this for you, okay?"

He'd been so careful. He hadn't given his old man any way to contact him, hadn't contacted him himself, though he'd been tempted a few times over the years. And now....

Shaking himself, he looked at his fiancé, at that earnest puppy face, and his mouth tried to pull into at least half a smile. "It's okay, love. I'll...." He'll what? Shaking his head, he reached down and gave Raleigh's thigh a squeeze, much as the bloke had done his forearm. "It's time, yeah?" He swallowed hard. "Maybe past time."

Raleigh stared at him, eyebrows furrowed together, then leaned forward and lightly kissed his temple, much as he'd done their first day here. It had been a token gesture then, a sham for this same audience of one.

It felt different now.

Squaring his shoulders, he slid down off his seat, shrugged off the baby-maker and laid it across the stool, and ignored the rest of his breakfast he'd never have the stomach for now, anyway. At least he'd eaten the madeleines first.

"Lead the way, marshal." Under his breath, he added, "You're gonna be the death of me, mate."

If Pandasnatch heard, he didn't comment. To give him credit, the bloke did look a bit ashamed of himself -- a look Chuck would bet his year's salary the imposing mayor wasn't used to wearing.

"Oi, marshal--"

"You _can_ just call me Stacker, you know. Your father does." A side-eye. "Or Pentecost, like Raleigh does when he's not being formal. You _are_ marrying a man who's been like a son to me since I moved here."

Pentecost! That was it! Though he'd rather liked Pandasnatch.

Relieved, even though his insides were crawling with too many emotions to classify, he gave the bloke his own side-eye. "A man you thought might become your son-in-law?"

Pentecost was good. He didn't miss a step. "No one would have been unhappy if that had come to pass, but I think they're better suited as they are."

Surprised, he blinked and slowed. "Wait, you _don't_ want them to end up together?"

Dark eyes narrowed, and Pentecost actually stopped to eye him. "Even if I did, what point would there be in pushing it? He has a life in New York and she has a life here. And he's getting married tomorrow, lest you forget."

Blushing a bit and gritting his jaw, he made himself ask the question. "And... if he wasn't getting married tomorrow?"

Because he suddenly realized why things had gone a bit sideways between them today whilst everything else had been going so well. It had all come together when Chau made his offer to let Raleigh off the hook if he admitted the truth. Chuck just hadn't wanted to look at it too closely.

He didn't want Raleigh in trouble for him. He didn't want strife in the strained but still loving family he'd discovered here. He didn't want to be the catalyst for the kind of change he himself feared.

If... if they didn't get married tomorrow... would Raleigh be able to pick up the thread of the life he should've had if Chuck hadn't barged into it like a drunken wallaby?

After a long, fraught silence, Pentecost straightened. "Since that isn't a theory we will be testing, the question is invalid, Mr. Hansen." But the bloke smiled faintly. "And your father is still waiting."

He wanted to press the issue... but he didn't want to press the issue. And yeah, his old man was waiting.

Sighing, he nodded and followed when the big bloke walked on. But, at the door, at the last moment... he hesitated.

"He just wants to see you." Pentecost's voice was low, as if he was talking to a wild animal. "To see for himself that you're all right."

His jaw clenched. "What if I'm _not_ all right?"

Suddenly, the marshal smiled. Not the small, polite smile, either. "You really are your father's son." He opened the door and gestured. "You'll do just fine."

Gathering himself, he stepped out onto the porch, more than a little disgruntled when the door closed -- and fucking locked! -- behind him.

And there he was. His old man.

They stared at each other for an uncomfortably long moment. Herc looked... tired. Made sense. The bloke had just got off a plane, likely. His jaw was sharp and stubbled, his eyes shadowed, his stance a little too shoulders-up to be casual. Looked like he'd missed a few meals in the past thirteen years and maybe dressed in the dark this morning.

Not like Chuck could talk. He was in someone else's pajamas.

Fuck, this was awkward.

Finally, his old man ducked his head in an awkward sort of nod. "Chuck."

Lost for words, he did the same. "Dad."

_Awkward._

Herc shoved his hands in his pockets, then took them out, then put them back in again. "I, uh... hear congratulations are in order?"

"Yeah. Thanks." But he couldn't just leave it there. "Came an awful long way to deliver them, though."

Herc ducked his head, this time to look at the toes of his boots, and Chuck felt... bad? Maybe? He hadn't meant that as a shot. Just... it was true. Herc had already been on the phone with Pentecost. Could've just passed the message.

The muscle at the back of Herc's jaw twitched. "Wanted to see you, yeah? It's... Jesus, Chuck, it's been so long, and I didn't have any way to get ahold of you without tracking you down like a stray dog. I thought you'd ring me up eventually, but...."

Apparently ashamed of the outburst, the old man tapered off, scuffing the toe of his boot at the painted boards of the porch's floor. And Chuck felt....

Throat tight, he made himself speak. "Do you still regret saving me instead of Mum?"

Herc was across the porch in a heartbeat, and Chuck started to back away in alarm when he reached for him. Until wiry arms wrapped around him and jerked him into a hard hug. He stood there, arms out and eyes wide, feeling so fucking awkward but also feeling....

"Christ, son, I _never_ regretted saving you." His arms tightened. "I just didn't know what to do, yeah?"

Chuck's eyes burned, and he blinked furiously against the sting. "You couldn't even look at me."

The old man slumped, then pulled away with his head hanging. Chuck gritted his teeth. He fucking hated that look. He'd seen it every day for eight years and had nightmares about it for another five before putting it deliberately out of his mind.

Nodding finally, Herc straightened up and squared his shoulders. "I could say it's because I saw her every time I looked at you, but it wouldn't be true. It's because I couldn't save her, and I was losing you because of it, and I thought...." He sighed, frustrated and tired with his short-cropped hair sticking up every which way. "Doesn't matter what I thought. I'm... Chuck, I'm so sorry. I never meant for you to think I regretted saving you."

It was... more than Chuck had expected, and it seemed to cut right through him. But in a good way, maybe. After the day he'd had, he couldn't be sure of anything he felt.

His mouth opened, and he had no idea what would come out of it. Maybe a tirade. Maybe an apology of his own.

"I fell out of a boat today."

Or maybe that. His eyes widened. Herc's did, too.

"Jesus, son. Are you all right?"

As if his father hadn't spoken, he continued. "Hadn't been on a boat in twenty years before this weekend. Raleigh -- the bloke I'm marrying tomorrow -- had to wrap me up in a life vest to get me on board the first couple of times. I couldn't even tell him why at first."

Herc's mouth moved to speak, but he just shook his head instead. Chuck understood.

"I was doing better, though. Told him I didn't need the vest. Even...." But here, a trace of a smirk broke through. "Even drove the damn boat for a bit."

Although he'd hardly classify his panicked commandeering as actual driving. More like a first time gun user employing the "point and shoot" method.

"You know what I was thinking when I hit the water?"

Eyes dark, Herc shook his head.

"I thought how mad Mum would be at me for drowning when you'd gone to all that trouble the first time 'round." He huffed softly and lowered his eyes to his socked feet. Raleigh's socks. "When Raleigh hauled me up out of the water, I could almost see her smiling and shaking her head at me. Like when I used to do something stupid and ballsy and somehow still survive it. Remember that look?"

Herc's eyes filled up, but he smiled painfully and nodded, his jaw clenching and relaxing, clenching and relaxing.

Sighing, he met his old man's too-intense gaze and... couldn't say it. Or maybe he could, but not right out. They'd never been good at saying things right out.

"Dad, would... you maybe like to come to the wedding tomorrow?" He swallowed, suddenly nervous. "If you're still in town, yeah?"

Oh, the transformation in that expression. No, they'd never been good at talking, the Hansens, but they did a good job of saying things anyway.

"Yeah, son. I'd like that. I, uh... my ticket's open-ended."

Chuck nodded, the message received in return. His dad had bought a two-way ticket, of course, but hope had led him to not pick a firm return date.

Not quite grinning, he offered his hand. Herc, not managing much better with the smiling, clasped it firmly. They didn't exactly shake, but... it was enough. It was a start.

"Who the hell locked the door?"

It was muffled, but that was definitely Raleigh's voice. Unless Chuck missed his guess, his sod of a fiancé was giving them fair warning of his imminent arrival. Courteous bastard.

"Don't suppose you want to meet the other groom?"

This time, Herc managed a grin just fine. The door opened, and Raleigh stepped out with his curious puppy expression firmly in place. Chuck knew him well enough now to know when it was a genuine expression, and he was pretty sure this time the bloke was making himself look small.

"Any casualties out here?"

He rolled his eyes. "Get out here, you wanker." He could see the relief on that puppy face all the way over here. "Herc Hansen, meet Raleigh Becket, my assistant."

"You said _executive_ assistant in Gottleib's office."

"Oi! He called you a secretary."

Herc watched the bickering with a confused grin. "Thought you said he was the groom."

Smirking, Chuck waggled his eyebrows. "That, too."

It was Herc's turn to roll his eyes, but he offered his hand willingly enough. "Nice to meet you, mate. Stacker says good things about you."

Raleigh shook, then put his arm around Chuck's waist. It seemed the bloke found it easier to do each time, because he didn't even hesitate. "I've never known the marshal to lie."

To that, Herc actually chuckled. "Not touching that one." But he seemed awkward again now. Awkward and tired.

But Raleigh was Raleigh. "Did you want to come in? We're just having bacon and eggs, but I could always throw on some more."

"Oi, thanks, but no. I... uh... pretty sure Chuck's exhausted after falling out of the boat and all--"

"You told him about that?" Raleigh looked at him, incredulous and... worried? For him?

But that was the least of his worries, so Chuck used his position in the curve of his fiancé's arm to elbow the bloke in his unprotected ribs. Gently. He didn't want that arm to go away.

"I'm fine, love. You got me out, yeah?"

The endearment also came out easier each time. He was pretty sure he'd even used it when they were alone. If he had, Raleigh hadn't mentioned it, and Chuck wasn't about to draw any attention to it.

"Anyway." Herc raised an eyebrow, looking almost amused that he'd apparently been forgotten. "He's probably tired, and I just got off the plane an hour ago. Stacker offered his guest room while I'm here, so I'll just go back with him if he's leaving."

"He is." Pentecost was a bloody ninja for such a big bloke. Chuck hadn't even heard him open the door. "We will, however, be coming back tomorrow. Won't we?"

Chuck exchanged a look with his old man, and they both nodded. They weren't fixed, but... it was a start. If he was honest, he was too worn down from the day to ask for much more than that.

"Tomorrow then, gentlemen."

The big bloke gave handshakes all around, then headed down the steps, likely to give his old RAAF friend a chance to say goodbye with a spot of privacy. However, Chuck had no intention of letting Raleigh bugger off, too, so he stayed right where he was, tucked up against his fake fiancé's side. To his great relief, the bloke made no move to leave.

"Right, then." Herc nodded and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Raleigh?"

"Yes, sir?"

The old man grinned a bit but didn't correct him. "That's my son you got there, yeah?"

Raleigh's arm tightened. "Yes, sir."

And, dammit, but Chuck was absurdly touched. It wasn't exactly a shovel talk, but... after twenty years of thinking his old man regretted that he'd lived while the love of his life had died....

Without another word -- likely because he was as choked up as Chuck was -- Herc strode away, hurrying after Pentecost but not quite running.

Weary all over again -- emotional shite was far more exhausting to deal with than physical problems -- Chuck slumped. Raleigh, good bloke that he was, tugged him closer into an almost-cuddle.

"Cold?"

He didn't even know. He probably should be, after his dousing earlier. "Yeah, maybe. Kinda want Mamie's blanket."

"Let's go in?"

It was an offer, not an order, and Chuck took it with a nod. He didn't even grumble when Becket took his arm back to open the door for him. Or when the bloke grabbed the quilt and wrapped him up in it. Or when he sat him back down on the stool and tidied up the kitchen on his own.

He should probably help, but he was just too damn tired.

"Chuck, you're about to fall off the stool. Are you sure you don't just wanna go to bed? No one will hold it against you."

Sighing, he gave in. He felt like a wanker for not waiting until Dominique and Mamie were back so he could at least say goodnight, but the thought of that thick, cushy mattress and all the heavy blankets just about made him cry. So, he let his near-future husband usher him upstairs and to their room. There, he bit at his lower lip and, safe in his baby-maker cocoon, tried to work up to the question he wanted to ask.

"You sacking out, too?"

Raleigh shrugged. "I could sleep, I guess. We have a pretty big day tomorrow."

He smirked wearily at the bastard's little grin. "Yeah, yeah. Wedding at ten, flight at three." He wanted to joke about what time the wedding night started, but he was too tired to be careful with his wording, so he let it go. "You... uh... I mean, that's a pretty damn big bed, Becket. No reason you should sleep on the floor when you can wrap up tight on your own side, yeah?"

The silly sod raised an eyebrow. "Chuck, are you trying to besmirch my honor by getting me into bed before the wedding?"

"Oi!" Blushing, he kicked at the rotten bastard with a socked foot, since his hands were occupied keeping the quilt in place. "Keep it in your pants, mate. And if you're a virgin, I'm a goddamn choir boy."

"I'm having a hard time picturing you in church."

"Fuck you, Becket."

"See?"

Trying to scowl, he grunted and went around to the other side of the bed. "So?"

Thankfully, his asshole fiancé didn't make him repeat his offer. "Can't."

He couldn't help it. He scowled. Becket, however, grinned.

"Got a call from Maman while you were talking to your dad. She and Mamie will be back late, but they made me promise to sleep downstairs on the couch so we don't see each other before the wedding."

"Seriously?" Though it sounded exactly like something the Becket women would come up with.

Raleigh shrugged. "It's tradition."

"Yeah, yeah." Rolling his eyes, he crawled into bed and flopped down facefirst. "Go on, then. Big day tomorrow, and all that."

But he was disappointed. He... didn't want to be alone. Not tonight. Not with everything that had happened today.

"Chuck?"

Okay, that was a weird tone. He lifted his head and looked, and Raleigh looked... hesitant. Unsure, for the first time since they got on the plane.

"Yeah, mate?"

Troubled blue eyes met his. "We're really doing this tomorrow, right?"

Chuck stared, unsure what Raleigh was asking. Did he need reassurance? Confirmation? To be talked into it?

Because, if Chuck was honest, he was no longer sure if they should go through with this or not. He'd felt guilty and wrong most of the day, and he wasn't sure he could bring himself to take that final step.

But he actually wanted to, now, which made the confusion so much worse.

_Shit._

"Chuck?"

He was selfish. He was the worst kind of user because at least when it was a business deal, they were both getting something out of it. Now, he just wanted Becket because he wanted him. To stay with him.

He wanted him to be happy.

Forcing a smile he didn't feel and couldn't imagine looked genuine, he nodded. "Yeah, love. We're really doing this tomorrow."

And Raleigh looked... relieved? Reassured? Disquieted? Chuck couldn't really tell, and before he could decide whether or not to ask, the bloke nodded, bent to pull a few things from his duffel, and went to take a shower.

Troubled, he climbed back off the bed and tugged down all the blankets, then crawled back in under them. Yes, it was early, but the day had been a million years long. Chanting in the woods. Mako's book. Dominique's tears. Mamie's history lesson. The boat trip from hell. Huddling against Raleigh's warmth. God, his father showing up like the Ghost of Christmas Past.

It all circled around in his head, even as he buried his face in the pillow, knowing he'd have to breathe sooner or later and not caring. He didn't know what to do. He didn't want to risk Raleigh's future, but if he didn't, he was risking his own. Either choice seemed wrong and fraught with trouble and hardship.

Exhausted beyond even his own thoughts, he slept.


	29. SUNDAY

It really was a nice barn. In fact, as Chuck fidgeted with the antique cufflinks at the cuffs of his peach silk shirt, he decided the Becket family barn looked more like a chapel than some chapels he'd seen. The strings of white lights helped, as did the greenery strung here and there like garland, but the real feeling came from all the mellow, polished wood of the stalls and supports, from the faint, sweet scents of hay and leather.

And from the rows and rows of folding chairs and the people sitting in them, of course.

Mamie stood at his side, beaming and ready to walk him down the aisle between the two sides of the congregation. He was fairly certain he looked more like a gangster than a groom in the 1940s suit, but, though she'd let it out enough to fit snugly instead of strangling him, it was still too tight across his shoulders and thighs to really carry off the look. And he wasn't wearing a fedora.

"Chuck?"

He looked up from his too-symbolic cufflinks and found a hint of a grin at the sight of his old man in a suit. He'd only ever seen that in pictures before, and Herc looked excruciatingly uncomfortable.

The poor bloke ducked his head, his ears red. "Yeah, I know. If I'd been thinking right, I'd have brought my old dress blues instead. This was... sorta last minute, yeah?"

Mamie nudged Chuck with her elbow. "I think he looks très beau¹, yes?" Primping a bit, she took Herc in from toes to ginger hair. "I see how you came to be so handsome, Chuck. If only I were a few years younger."

"Oi, Mamie!" Blushing himself, he shot an apologetic glance at his red-faced old man. "Sorry, Dad. These Becket sods take a bit of getting used to."

"It's all right." But he was still blushing. "I just wanted to come over and... say something... encouraging? Mind, I can't think of a single damn thing. Just... congratulations, yeah?"

Yeah, they weren't quite fixed yet, but this was good enough for now. Grinning a bit, Chuck nodded and went back to fiddling with the cufflinks. He was hyper-aware of them. How old they were. How deeply a part of the LaPierre family, and thus, the Becket family.

"So... why are you the bride?"

Mamie snickered, and Chuck rolled his eyes, again pulled out of his head. "I'm not the goddamn bride, old man. It's Raleigh's barn, yeah?"

"Sure, son." The wanker smirked, and for a second, things felt okay between them.

"I have the idea."

Uh-oh. Mamie sounded excited. That couldn't bode well. Goodbye, moment of normalcy.

"Since you are here, Monsieur Hansen, _you_ should walk your so-handsome son down the aisle."

Eyes wide, Chuck met his father's equally wide eyes. They hadn't even seen each other in over a decade, and now they were supposed to walk arm-in-arm down the aisle?

Herc sputtered a bit. "I don't know... if that's...."

Chuck wouldn't admit to sputtering. "I mean... it's not that I don't _want_...."

As usual, Mamie had no use for sputtering. "C'est magnifique!² It is settled. Monsieur, if you please?"

And just like that, he and his old man were arm-in-arm, both more than a little confused how she linked them and disappeared quite that quickly. She was ninety fucking years old.

"They take getting used to, yeah?"

Chuck snorted, trying to shake off the awkwardness. "Not sure I'm quite there yet."

Herc chuckled, and it was less awkward. "Son... I just... before we do this, I need to tell you one thing. Right?"

The awkward was back. "Dad, for the love of God, please don't make it weird. Not today."

"No, I just... I'm proud of you, son."

Some of the static in his head faded, and he looked his old man straight on. Herc nodded, eyeing him right back.

"I mean it. Stacker caught me up last night. Editor in chief of a major publishing house at thirty-one? Son, that's... I'm so proud of you. I know I didn't have much part in it, yeah? But that's my fault, not yours."

"Dad--"

"No. I didn't...." He sighed heavily, finally looking away. "You spent the last twenty years thinking your own father regretted you, and that's on me. I never told you otherwise, yeah? But you made something of yourself anyway. On your own."

Swallowing hard, Chuck stared at his meticulously shined dress shoes. Less than a week ago, he'd have agreed entirely. He'd quite liked his life. And on paper, it was a good life.

And a single weekend with Raleigh had opened his eyes to how hollow a shell it all was. Which was why, although he still felt wrong and all twisted up inside, he was here, getting ready to marry the bloke. Because he was a selfish bastard, and he didn't want to give Raleigh up. Because the idea of the big gorgeous bastard rattling around Chuck's otherwise empty apartment and filling up all the spaces in his otherwise empty life was too... _too_.

"So I'm proud of you, son." Herc's voice was low but firm. "And it's time."

Sure enough, the music -- something classical and orchestral -- kicked in, and Mamie magically reappeared -- seriously, was the woman capable of teleportation? -- to beckon them forward. His heartbeat ratcheted up as they stopped at the head of the aisle.

Raleigh stood at the far end. Tall and gorgeous in a navy blue suit that fit him like a loving glove, the bane of his mental stability looked pale and composed, but his eyes told a different story, now that Chuck knew what to look for. The poor bloke was about as calm as a poppy-hopped wallaby carving crop circles in a field.

Dread? Nerves? Impossible to tell.

Taking a deep breath, he headed down the aisle toward his fiancé with his father at his side. That rotten sod, Wei Chung stood at Raleigh's side, standing in as the best man. And... wait... at Raleigh's other side, standing in as the goddamn wedding official.

He stopped right in the middle of the aisle. "Oi, what the fuck, Wei?"

A ripple of murmurs spread out like waves in a pool of water. And more than a few chuckles. What the...?

Becket blinked, looking from one identical Wei to the other.

"Why the fuck are there two of you?"

Near the front, someone stood up. Another goddamn identical Wei.

"Okay, seriously, what the fuck?"

The three fuckhead Weis looked at each other and... started laughing. Hard. The rippling chuckles intensified.

Understanding dawned on Raleigh's face along with a grin he tried to hide. "Um... I can explain."

"Well, somebody better fucking do it!"

More chuckles. Herc fidgeted at his side, likely trying to decide whether he should laugh or not. Chuck's vote was not.

"They're triplets. And they use it."

The chuckling was universal now, but considering there was also a lot of nodding, he felt a bit less singled out. Apparently, these wankers had scammed plenty of townsfolk. He was just the latest victim.

"My best man, here, is Cheung. You've met."

The fucker had the gall to smirk and wave.

"The official, here, is Hu. It's possible you've also met him."

His eyes narrowed and he pulled his arm away from his old man's so he could shove his hands into his pockets, only remembering at the last second that the goddamn trousers were too tight for that shit and crossing his arms instead.

"You're the bloke what did Raleigh's suit and found this shirt, yeah?"

Wei Hu nodded. "Looks good on you, by the way."

Unimpressed, he grunted. "Thanks."

Raleigh's hidden grin twitched. "And the suave gentleman in the front row is Jin. He was at the welcome party, so you might have seen him."

He looked the bloke over, then felt an uncomfortable hitch in his throat. "Crudités, right?" When the bloke nodded, Chuck shot Raleigh a sick look. "Green peppers."

"Oh." Well, at least the grin was actually gone.

"So which of you bastards made me smack your ass?" His money was on Jin. He doubted Cheung would've allowed it, even for a prank.

And then Hu raised his hand. And waggled his eyebrows.

"Oi! Raleigh, a fucking stripper is marrying us?"

Hu grunted. "Exotic dancer."

Becket shrugged. "He's ordained."

Fucking. Awkward.

"Jesus Christ." Closing his eyes, he shook his head. "It's official. I'm going directly to hell."

Oh, so many more chuckles. Raleigh, however, rolled his eyes.

"He's not a minister, Chuck. Just ordained."

Was this a sign? Everything seemed to be telling him--

"You're, uh... holding up the procession, son." Herc raised his eyebrows and offered his arm.

Taking a deep breath, he linked elbows and started moving again. Toward Raleigh. Toward soft t-shirts and comfortable jumpers. Toward snarky banter and gorgeous eyes and that curious puppy face the bloke got when he was still too surprised for his innate practicality to have kicked in yet.

Toward Becket in goddamn prison gear, declaring bankruptcy after selling everything he owned to pay a goddamn quarter million dollar fine.

_Fuck._

Thankfully, they didn't do the stupid "who gives this bloke in marriage" thing. Herc just squeezed his arm gently and let him go, backing away to return to his seat.

Chuck's throat dried out.

Wei Hu, on the other hand, was in fine voice. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here--"

"In a barn." He couldn't help himself. Dry throat or not, the words just popped out.

Raleigh rolled his eyes. "A really nice barn."

"Ahem." Hu raised an eyebrow. "As I was saying, we are gathered to witness the union between Chuck and our Raleigh."

Chuck's eyebrows drew together. Wei smiled at the crowd behind them.

"Most of us watched our Becket boy come up. My brothers and I grew up with him. He and Mako could not be separated from the day she moved here."

_Please don't bring up Mako today of all days, dammit._

"He worked in Mayor Pentecost's store for years. The Kaidanovskys kept him that summer when Mrs. LaPierre-Becket and... Yancy... both had whooping cough and Madame LaPierre couldn't keep him out of the sickroom."

He didn't miss Raleigh's flinch at Yancy's name. He wanted to reach out and take the poor sod's hand, but his own hands were clammy from nerves.

"People say it takes a village to raise a child." Hu shrugged. "Me? I think Raleigh could have raised himself."

Chuckles from the crowd. A lowered head from Raleigh, who apparently didn't find that funny. The urge to grab the bloke's hand increased.

"But he didn't have to, because he was here. With us." Hu nodded. "We would do anything for our Raleigh." Now, the bloke speared Chuck with an intent look. "And we are so glad he found someone who feels the same."

Yeah, right. A selfish bastard who was putting their precious Raleigh's future in jeopardy.

"We only met Chuck four days ago, but everyone here has already seen the devotion he has for making our Raleigh laugh. It... has been so long since Raleigh laughed."

 _Fuck. That's what Mamie said yesterday._ His unease ratcheted up. _Just get to the goddamn vows already, Wei. I can't...._

"And so, though we don't know Chuck very well, we welcome him into the family."

 _Into the family. Jesus._ He felt clammy all over. They'd... if they were found out... Chau was right there in the fucking congregation. Would he still be family if he got their golden boy arrested?

"So in this spirit of family, we--"

His hand went up, his whole body feeling clammy and unreal. He just... couldn't.

Hu stuttered a bit, then raised his eyebrows. "Yes?"

Raleigh's head came up, eyes wide.

"I... uh... have something to say."

"Chuck, what are you doing?"

Gathering himself, he avoided his bullshit fiancé's eyes and turned around to address the congregation. For a second, he was speechless. Then, he remembered he was goddamn editor in chief of a publishing house and he ate boardrooms and hard sells for breakfast.

They didn't taste as good as fresh madeleines, but too fucking bad.

Smiling enough to bring out the dimples, he did his goddamn job.

"G'day, everyone. I promise, I won't hold things up too long. Just have a few things to say before... yeah."

Raleigh's jaw was tight enough to crack walnuts with his teeth. "Chuck."

He ignored it. He had a job to do. "As you can probably tell, I'm from Australia."

Chuckles. This was a good crowd. That would likely hate him when he was done.

"Five days ago, it was brought to my attention that I am useless when it comes to paperwork, and I was about to be deported." His throat dried out again, so he cleared it. Didn't help. "I mean, I'm an editor, right? Not a terrorist. Didn't think it was that important. But you Yanks love your paperwork, yeah?"

No chuckles. He swallowed, wishing for spit.

"Chuck, stop."

"So because I didn't want to leave my fantastic job and my million dollar apartment in Manhattan, I...." This was the hard part. He broadened his smile. "I blackmailed Raleigh into becoming my fiancé, then blackmailed him again to come up here and lie to all of you about it."

Raleigh's eyes closed. The crowd shifted restlessly. Chuck risked a glance at his not-fiancé's family, but quickly looked away from Dominique's pale face and Mamie's sharp little bird eyes.

"Raleigh and I were never engaged. In fact, I'm pretty sure he'd rather run out into rush hour traffic than marry me under any other circumstances."

Chau laughed. No one else did.

Forcing his smile so wide he was pretty sure the top of his head would just fall off, Chuck shrugged. "He's not even gay."

Mako lowered her eyes. Beside her, Pentecost pinched the bridge of his nose. Beside him, Herc stared, wide-eyed, jaw tight.

So much for a reconciliation. So much for being proud of his so-successful son.

"Chuck, please stop."

Sighing, he finally turned to Raleigh, his not-fiancé not-assistant. "Raleigh, mate, this was a business deal, and you've more than lived up to it. But now, the deal is off. You're not going to prison for an asshole like me."

Before the bloke could comment, Chuck turned and strode away, headed back down the aisle he'd just walked up. Unfortunately, his newly resurrected conscience wouldn't let him rest without saying one more thing. When he came to the first row of chairs, he stopped, lowered his head to gather the last dregs of his courage, then looked at the small row of Raleigh's family.

They looked... stunned. Shocked. _Devastated_. Even Dick.

"None of this was Raleigh's fault, yeah? You... you're a good family. Don't let this ruin anything. This was... this was all me." He swallowed hard again, his throat a desert, and had to look away. "I'm so sorry."

A few steps further, he stopped again. So he had two more things instead of one. He couldn't raise his eyes for this one.

"I, uh... guess I'll see you back home, Dad." In Australia. He hoped. Would his old man even want to see him after--

"Looking forward to it, son."

Nodding without looking up, he walked on. Halfway down the aisle, he paused by Chau's seat but didn't stop. "Get your ass up, Chau. You're taking me to the goddamn airport. I brought too fucking much luggage to go on my own."

He didn't look back. He just kept walking.

It was all he could do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¹ - very handsome  
> ² - That's wonderful!


	30. Chapter 30

Things kept happening around him, but Raleigh just stood there, trying to figure out when exactly the shit had started hitting the fan.

When Chuck interrupted the ceremony, maybe? Or before that, when he realized there was more than one Wei? Surely not. That wasn't "doom yourself to deportation" material.

Sometime yesterday? Was it the boat thing? No, he'd been acting strange before that. Quieter, somehow.

"Raleigh?"

But the annoying ginger bastard had been fine earlier. They'd been joking around, right?

"Raleigh, s'il vous plaît, look at me."

Blinking, he met Mamie's eyes and felt like he was just waking up, like this whole weird morning hadn't actually happened and the wedding was still to come.

"Was it all a lie?"

Not just waking up, then. He opened his mouth, then realized he had absolutely no idea what to say.

"Mon cher?"

Lowering his eyes -- he could never meet Mamie's eyes when he'd done something wrong -- he nodded. "At first, yeah. Except the part where he blackmailed me twice." A hint of a grin quirked one corner of his mouth, but only for a second. "I kinda did the blackmailing that second time."

His father stepped in, frowning. "At first?"

He tensed, ready to take offense, but a good, hard look made him realize his father didn't look disapproving. Just intent.

"I need to...." He gestured toward the house. "He's still upstairs, right?"

Without waiting for a response he wouldn't have any idea what to do with, Raleigh turned and left the barn, his steps speeding up as he hit the yard. By the time he reached the house, he was running.

Up the stairs, down the hall, through the door, and....

Nothing. The bed was made. Chuck's ridiculous collection of luggage -- completely wasted, since he'd basically worn Raleigh's clothes all weekend -- was gone.

His grandfather's suit lay neatly across the foot of the bed, a folded piece of paper across the buttons of the jacket, the set of antique gold and pearl cufflinks on top of that.

The first curl of anger twisted in his stomach. He reached for the note.

 

 

>   
>  _Raleigh,_
> 
> _You were right. Mako's book is the kind that made Shattered great. I didn't want to pick it up because I knew it meant you'd be promoted. I wasn't ready for that. Not sure I ever will be, if I'm honest._
> 
> _But you have a discerning eye and always have done. Don't worry - I'll make sure we pick it up before I leave. Twenty thousand copies, first run. Just like I promised._
> 
> _Take care of yourself, mate. You'll make an excellent editor._
> 
> _And tell Mamie she's a goddamn troll. I'll miss her._
> 
> _\--Chuck_

 

The curl turned into a legitimate flare. That son of a bitch. That quitting, chickenshit son of a bitch.

No, that insulted his mother, and she'd done nothing wrong.

Gritting his jaw, he started to wad up the stupid fucking note when someone cleared their throat behind him. He spun, ready to read his former fiancé the riot act, but it wasn't Chuck.

He tried to hide his disappointment as Mako gave him that little smile of hers. The one that usually felt like a candle floating in cool water. Today, it did absolutely nothing to douse the flaming Molotov cocktail of emotion inside him.

Chuck Fucking Hansen. Had he really thought his asshole tyrant of a boss could be anything but the biggest pain in the ass imaginable?

"That was... an interesting ceremony."

Gritting his teeth, he nodded.

"Not, I take it, the ending you hoped for?"

He flinched. "Probably the best one we could have, under the circumstances." When she was quiet a beat too long, he risked a glance at her only to flinch again. "What?"

One eyebrow rose. "Excuse me?"

Unimpressed, he lost his ability to flinch. "Since we were kids, every time I do something you don't approve of, you make this little... face."

Yes. He imitated the face. He'd long since admitted to being a five-year-old at heart.

She, of course, only rolled her eyes. "Raleigh, you couldn't lie to a kindergartner."

"You don't--" Gritting his teeth again, he cut himself off and waved the stupid fucking note. "Mako, you have no idea. That annoying prick spent the last three years driving me absolutely bugshit, and then we come here and suddenly he's a fucking cinnamon roll? And he leaves me this... this... ugh! Just read it."

She didn't. She just watched him with that face.

"What? Not a nice word for me in three years, and now I have a discerning eye and he didn't want to lose me as his assistant?" Furious, he wadded up the stupid fucking note and threw it at the fireplace. It fell short. Seemed poetic. "Fuck!"

Mako remained silent, though she thoughtfully put the face away.

"Sorry." He shoved his hands -- okay, his fists -- into his pants pockets. "He just... nails on a chalkboard, Mako. He goes right through your head and just...."

She smiled. "Gives up his own future to protect yours?"

All his breath left him.

"And... you're just going to let him?"

His breath came back. No. No, he wouldn't.

He strode over to her, gripped her upper arms, and leaned his forehead against hers. She smiled, and it was like a candle floating in cool water again.

She didn't even make him say it.


	31. Chapter 31

"So what happens now?"

Chau grunted and shifted on the water taxi's bench seat. "Now, I make an appointment with a chiropractor. What the hell is in that suitcase?"

"With. Me. Jackass."

Chuck did not like the water taxi. It had railings. And the last time he'd been on a boat... it hadn't worked out well. Might be better if Raleigh was at the helm, but--

"Calm down, Red Hulk." Shifting again, the big bastard tried to get comfortable against the railback. "Now that you're coming along of your own volition, everything gets real friendly. I'll even spot you twenty-four hours to pack and make arrangements."

Eyes fixed on the water, he tried not to think about Australia yet. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, now that he'd actually spoken with his old man. Maybe--

"And Raleigh?"

Chau was quiet long enough that Chuck tore his gaze away from the open bay. As usual, thanks to the goggles, he couldn't be sure Chau was staring daggers at him, but it sure as hell felt like it.

"What do you care?"

He stared, eyes narrowing. This time, he was pretty sure the prick rolled his eyes.

"No harm, no foul. Okay?"

"He walks?"

Sighing, Chau nodded. "He walks."

That settled, Chuck returned his attention to the open water. "Good."

There was nothing else to say.


	32. Chapter 32

"Raleigh, son, just tell us what's happening right now."

He didn't brush past his dad, but he didn't exactly answer him, either. "I have to get to the mainland. Did anyone see when they left? I need to catch up."

"Mon fils, you must talk to us now, yes?" His maman sounded a little desperate. "I thought...?"

He sucked in a deep breath. "All I know right now is that I have to go after him."

Richard edged in. "But why? If it was all fake and you're out of it now, everything's fine, right?"

"Everything's not fine, Dad."

"Why?"

His jaw clenched. He did not have time to argue about this. Turning on his father, he forced himself to not lose his temper. It used to be his best skill, but the weekend had shaken his control over his formerly short fuse.

"If you're telling me to let it go, I think you know me better than that by now."

To his surprise and relief, Richard put his hands up. "I'm not, and I do. I just... why aren't you relieved to not be arrested and fined right now?"

"Ah, non, still arguing?"

Mamie sounded a little winded, and Raleigh's focus immediately shifted. God, if all of this had been too much for her....

But she only smirked. "Your Kaidanovskys are waiting on the shore, petit-fils. We must hurry to the airstrip, yes? The Medevac is waiting."

He blinked. The emergency chopper was here? "Uh... yeah, actually. How...?"

She reached up and patted his cheek. "I faked a heart attack, bien sûr."

A laugh jumped out of him, even as Dominique hid her mouth with her hand and Richard rolled his eyes. "And they believed you?"

Shrugging in that way only French people can manage, she smirked. "Non."

And yet, the Kaidanovskys had gone for the emergency helicopter while he was upstairs, anyway. His throat tightened. Had he been so obvious? Was he the only one he'd been fooling?

Or had he fooled Chuck, too? Made it easy to write off their fake relationship as a business deal when, to him, it had become something more?

Should he have... admitted that? To Chuck?

"Come, mon cher." Mamie took him by the arm. "Perhaps we can still catch him, yes?"

Richard blinked. "We... want to catch him, right?"

Dominique rolled her eyes. "Oui, Richard. Have you not eyes? Our son is in love."

Again, Richard blinked. "Okay." But his face squinched up a bit. "With Chuck?"

Blushing, Raleigh rolled his eyes. "Can we just go now?"

"Oui." Mamie gestured toward the shore, where most of the wedding guests had gathered. "Vite, vite."

Mrs. Kaidanovsky graciously offered to catch a ride with Pentecost and Mako so the whole family could cram into the little chopper's cabin. Mr. Kaidanovsky merely gave them a wink from the cockpit as he cranked on the engine, then gestured for them to put on their headsets. The blowback from the rotors chased all the guests back out of range. Soon enough, they were airborne, and Raleigh felt his knee bouncing as his heel tapped impatiently on the metal flooring.

Mamie took his hand in hers, stroking his forearm soothingly. "Ne vous inquiétez pas, mon cher.¹ We will be in time. The water taxi, it is so slow, yes?"

But he couldn't answer. He was too busy willing the chopper to fly faster. He didn't know how much of a headstart Chuck had or how early a flight out Chau could get them with his official credentials.

It seemed like an hour, but it was really only a matter of minutes before Mr. Kaidanovsky brought them down at the far end of the airstrip instead of on the hospital's roof. Raleigh was out of the cabin and on the run before they'd even properly settled.

Hauling out his phone, he called the office as he ran.

"Sitka Rocky Gutierrez Airport. How may I help--"

"I need to know what flight Chuck Hansen is on, please."

The voice was noticeably cooler this time around, likely thanks to the interruption and barking tone. "One moment, sir." He barely heard the typing noises over his heart thundering. "Actually, sir, his flight is taking off right now."

Shit. He stopped running and looked down the main runway. Sure enough, the little plane was already in motion, picking up speed as the propellers whined.

"No. No no no--"

It lifted off, taking Chuck with it. His heart twisted, and he could only watch until the plane was out of sight. He eventually realized the lady on the phone was still talking to him and that his parents and Mamie had caught up with him and looked almost as bad as he felt.

"Sir? Are you still... sir? I'm sorry, but I can't hear if you're answering. Did you need to book a flight? Sir?"

He swallowed hard. "I'll call you back."

And, despite how rude he'd been to the poor woman, he hung up without another word, then looked down at his phone as if it held the secrets of the universe. But it didn't. It was a smart phone, but it couldn't make miracles. Couldn't bring airplanes back. Couldn't say what he should have said if he hadn't thought he'd have three years to work up to it.

"Ah, non, that was...?"

He nodded, not looking up at his maman. Mamie wrapped her tiny arms around his waist and buried her head against his ribs.

"Everything will be all right, yes? All is not lost."

But it felt... too late. It felt like the biggest missed opportunity of his life. He didn't care about being editor right now. He didn't even care about Mako's book. It would've been picked up somewhere, and he knew it. She was just fine without his help.

He just... he wanted....

His father -- the man who had disapproved of almost every decision Raleigh had made over the course of his life -- put a warm hand on his shoulder. "We'll get you there, son. Whatever it takes. Okay?"

But he couldn't help but think of the original fiasco in Gottleib's office, when Chuck had hastily called them star-crossed lovers. A relationship that wasn't meant to be.

And as he stood on the cracked tarmac and stared after the plane he'd just missed, he couldn't help but wonder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¹ - Don't worry, my dear.


	33. Chapter 33

Chuck dropped the heavy-ass suitcase just inside the door and stared around his flat with dazed surprise. How had he ever thought it was efficent instead of barren? Uncluttered instead of just plain empty?

And his clothes were fucking uncomfortable, scratchy and stiff, like'd he'd just taken everything out of the plastic and put it on without washing it first. Maybe even missed a few pins.

On the plus side, his borderline empty flat meant he wouldn't have to spend a lot of time packing. The furniture could go into storage for a year, and his clothes... well, maybe it was time for a change. Or, at least, a few additions.

T-shirts. Flannel pants. Thick boot socks.

Jumpers.

Fuck it. He'd hire someone to do it. He'd pack his shit at work himself, but his flat could go to professionals.

So, he took off his "casual" suit jacket and tossed it over his little pile of luggage that would have to do for this sudden trip to Australia --though he might unpack some of the shoes because, fuck, they were heavy -- and whipped out his phone.

The one Raleigh had ordered to replace the one the goddamn eagle had snatched.

Silver instead of his preferred black.

Sighing, he shook the thought away and ordered some Szechuan take-out, then started calling storage facilities and moving companies.

Two hours later, he'd eaten, showered, and crawled into bed, feeling naked and exposed in just his boxer briefs. His bed felt... hard. Unnatural. The lone duvet was about as substantial as an old sheet.

He missed the baby-maker. Maybe Mamie would've let him take it if he'd asked with both dimples.

But worse, he missed... the anticipation. The urge to tell Raleigh to get the fuck up off the floor and get in bed, already. The wait for the gorgeous bastard to snark at him. The horrible temptation to start a bitchfest just to see what the silly sausage would say next.

He missed Raleigh. Already.

Australia was so far away. And he'd be gone at least a year. And there was no guarantee Becket wouldn't find someone more suited in the meantime or have any interest in even talking with him after all that time, after Chuck had blackmailed him and turned his entire life upside down.

Groaning, he yanked the uncomfortable pillow out from under his head and stuffed it over his face. He'd been such a bloody fool. But how could he have known?

For three years, Becket had been nothing more than the grease that kept the wheels of Chuck's life spinning smoothly. As far as he knew, the bloke had no personality beyond the occasional tightening of the jaw when Chuck was particularly assholish.

Then again, he'd known there was more. He just hadn't cared. Until now.

Until it was too late.

Eventually, he hauled the pillow away from his face and sucked in a breath. None of it mattered. What had Raleigh said? Done bun can't be undone?

This particular bun was fucking done. Overdone. A charred little lump of coal at the bottom of Raleigh's fireplace.

It was a long, long time before he finally went to sleep.


	34. MONDAY

Chuck hated all the stares. Newt had been wise enough to stay the fuck home today -- or Gottleib had been merciful enough to insist on it -- but every single one of the wage slaves out there was staring as he boxed up his office, leaving Newt's robot collection because taking it had been a dick move, even for him.

Fuck them. He didn't owe them a goddamn thing.

So he picked up the one box he wanted to take with him and shoved out of his office. Without giving any of the staring bastards a glance, he headed directly for Elvis's desk and dropped the box there.

"Yes, Mr. Hansen?"

"I need this one overnighted to this address in Austalia. The rest, just ship regular, yeah?"

Tendo nodded absently, looking over Chuck's shoulder with wide eyes.

"Oi, Elvis. You got that?"

Grinning a little, the bloke met his eyes, then looked behind him again and sort of nodded that direction.

"Oi, what now?" He turned and glared around at all the rubbernecks, then realized....

Fuck. Raleigh.

A gasping, sweaty Raleigh with his hair sticking up in every direction and dark circles under his eyes.

A murmur set up around the office, and Chuck forcibly closed his mouth. Then, he swallowed hard and did his best to sound like his old self.

"Raleigh." Close, but not quite right. "That's not exactly work appropriate attire."

It was true. Jeans and a henley with the sleeves pushed up to the elbows, plus a jumper slung over his arm that he quickly tossed aside. He must've taken it off when he started sweating.

It probably smelled fucking amazing.

_Not the time, asshole._

"So, mate. Why are you panting?"

Raleigh's eyes never strayed to anyone else in the office as he picked his way through the partition labyrinth. "I've been running."

He snorted, his heart pounding. "Yeah? All the way from Alaska? There's a bad joke in there somewhere."

"We need to talk."

_Keep it together. Get out of this before it gets messy. Messier._

"Don't think so, mate. Pretty sure we said everything already. And I got a plane to catch this evening--"

"Chuck."

He turned way. "--so, Elvis. Send that overnight, yeah? And send the rest--"

" _CHUCK_. Jesus, just shut up for two seconds!"

Eyes wide, he spun back to Raleigh, who looked both furious and intent not three meters away. It was a distractingly good look for him.

"I need to say something."

He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Won't take but a second."

"Sure, mate. Whatever."

Another few steps. "Last week, I kinda hated you."

His heart gave out a painful, twisting jerk.

"Some days, I knew that if you so much as poked me in the chest, I would beat the ever-loving shit out of you, no matter how bad I took it in return."

"Flattering."

"I said shut up."

His jaw clenched. That was just bloody rude.

"Then we got engaged and went to Alaska, and... I don't know when, but everything started to change."

No. No, he wasn't hearing this. Raleigh wasn't--

"Maybe it was when we kissed."

Nervous titters from the crowd.

"Maybe it was when you checked me out when we were naked."

Not-so-nervous titters, and Chuck couldn't help but shoot a few glares, even as Raleigh took another step forward. "I didn't see anything. Jesus."

"Oh, yes, you did. So did I."

More titters and murmurs.

"Or, hell, maybe it was when I told you about Yancy or when you told me about your mom. Or when I pulled you out of the water and was so goddamn glad you were okay."

His heart. It couldn't take this. He wasn't wired for all this feeling bullshit.

"I don't know, okay? I just... I didn't realize any of this until I was standing alone. In a really nice barn. _Husbandless_."

He swallowed hard. That fucking barn.

"So. Imagine my surprise when I realize the man -- the _man_ \-- I somehow fell in love with is gonna be deported to fucking Australia for the foreseeable future."

Gasps from the Peanut Gallery. Chuck only heard because his own heart and breath seemed to stop within him. He can't have heard that right.

"So I have a deal for you. Chuck... will you marry me?" The severe expression softened. "Because I think I wanna date you."

The office went into ecstasies around him, but Chuck blotted it out. His heart... fuck it. It didn't know a goddamn thing. This would never fucking work. Raleigh didn't even know what he was asking.

So, eyes stinging, throat clenching, Chuck shook his head.

Raleigh's eyes never wavered.

He shook his head harder. "Trust me, Becket. You don't want me. There's a reason -- loads of reasons -- I've been alone this whole time. I'm an asshole, yeah?"

"I know."

His eyes narrowed, and he straightened his shoulders. "I'm a selfish little shite. And a control freak."

Becket looked unimpressed. "Yeah. I _definitely_ know."

Clearing his throat, he rolled his eyes. "So yeah. It'd be better for both of us if we just... forget everything that happened, yeah? I go back to Australia, and you get promoted to editor. Everything fucking fine."

The annoying, gorgeous bastard managed half a smirk. "Easier, maybe, but not better."

There was barely a meter between them, and Chuck couldn't decide if that was too much or not enough. He couldn't breathe. And Raleigh's eyes, those fucking amazing blue eyes, bored into his own, telling him that Chuck was full of shite, that he knew they could work this out if they just tried, that the deal hadn't really changed because if they married, they'd have three years to decide if it worked or not.

And Chuck was about to shit himself with fear. Trying to smirk, he was pretty sure he looked like a hostage with a gun to his face. He sure as hell felt like it.

His breath felt like ice in his lungs, leaving his voice barely a whisper. "I'm fucking terrified right now."

Becket grinned for a split second and whispered back. "Me, too."

And then, the bloke closed the confusing distance between them and kissed him. Not a chaste little in-public for-show kiss, like at the welcome party, but a real, open-mouth, I-need-to-kiss-you-or-I'll-die kiss, and every single objection flew out of Chuck's mind.

Raleigh wanted him. Raleigh _wanted_ him.

His arms went around the bloke's waist. Raleigh reached up and brushed his thumb over Chuck's jaw, reminding him that he hadn't bothered shaving that morning, then slid his fingers round to the back of his neck, tilting his head just right. Oh, sweet Jesus, that was tongue, and he couldn't help the sound in his throat as he met it with his own.

Then, he pulled back and did his best to look pissed. "Oi, aren't you supposed to get down on one knee? You damn well made me do it."

One eyebrow went up. "I'm gonna take that as a yes."

Snorting, Chuck pulled him back in and kissed him again, half of him still shocked that any of this was happening. But Raleigh kissed back, not shying away from the feeling of a bloke's body against his own. Maybe he'd acclimated over the past few days.

A wolf whistle pierced the muttering and cheering around them. "Yeah, Becket boy!" Fucking Elvis. "Show him who's boss!"

Okay, that was too much.

Breaking away, he pointed at the silly sod. "I'm still the boss of you, mate."

Tendo paled. "Right. Sorry, sir."

Raleigh snickered and pulled him back in, and all irritation fell away. Lips a breath away, the bloke grinned and leaned their foreheads together. "So... immigration office?"

Looking into those impossible blues from this close was hypnotic. "Later, love. Your place or mine?"

His again-fiancé blushed up his neck to his ears. "Uh... can we... take this kinda slow? I mean...."

Giving the silly sod a squeeze around the waist, he smirked. "Not gonna jump you, mate. Just wanna kiss you all day without an audience, yeah?"

"Oh. Right." Blushing further, Raleigh ducked his head. "Then... maybe my place?" Looking up from under those fuck-all lashes, he grinned. "I have sweaters."

"Sold." But he stole one more kiss. Because he could now. "'Sides, I'm pretty sure a bunch of sweaty workmen are packing up all my shit right now, and my bed is hard as a rock, and I don't have any pajama pants."

"The crazy cat lady next door might be watering my plants, but otherwise, I think we're good at my place."

"After you, love."

But when Becket slowly pulled away, he tilted his head with that confused puppy look. "Really? Just... you always take the lead."

Smirking, he winked. "Didn't know the view I was missing."

Raleigh blushed, and Chuck felt like he could breathe for the first time all day.

Too fucking right.


	35. TUESDAY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to do it. I had to do the interview scene. Don't judge me.

Chau pinched the bridge of his nose under the goggles. "So... lemme get this straight."

Raleigh and Chuck exchanged a glance.

"You two are engaged again." Clearly unimpressed Chau grunted. " _For real_ , this time."

Chuck shrugged, more nervous than he cared to admit. "Yeah...?"

Sighing, the big bastard eyed them both. Probably. Fucking goggles. "We're really gonna do this again?"

Raleigh reached over and took Chuck's hand, tipping him a grin. "Yeah."

Chuck grinned back, and Chau shook his head but sat forward to lean his forearms on his over-papered desk. "Then let's do it."

***

Chau: So, how long have you been dating?

Raleigh: ...I guess... a day?

Chau: How's that goin' for ya?

Raleigh: So far, so good. Thanks.

Chau: *headshake*

***

Chau: What kind of shampoo does Raleigh use?

Chuck: No idea. Smells like vanilla and spice, though.

Chau: ...Is that a good thing?

Chuck: Honestly? It kinda makes me want to hold him down and smell him for an hour.

Chau: ...Movin' on.

***

Chau: Was it love at first sight?

Raleigh: No. Not at all.

Chau: I see. So when--

Raleigh: I mean, _really_ no. I kinda hated him from the first moment, actually. During my interview, he called me a Ken doll and asked if my head was as empty as my junk.

Chau: ...That doesn't seem like an appropriate interview question.

Raleigh: Right? And then he asked if I had anything resembling an ego, because if I did, I needed to cut that shit out before the interview went any further.

Chau: Christ, kid. Why'd you actually take the job?

Raleigh: I have no idea.

Chau: Jesus.

***

Chau: What's Raleigh's favorite color?

Chuck: Why would I even know that?

Chau: ...Birthday presents? Anniversary gifts? The occasional "thinking of you" thing to leave on his pillow?

Chuck: Oi, fuck. *head in hands* I'm never gonna remember all that.

Chau: Unbelievable.

***

Chau: When did you first meet your son's fiance?

Dominique: Last week. Such a charming young man, yes?

Chau: ...Are you a legal citizen, ma'am?

Richard: Hey!

***

Chau: What side of the bed does Chuck sleep on?

Raleigh: He sleeps in the middle.

Chau: ...How does that work out for you?

Raleigh: ...You remember the part where we just started actually dating yesterday, right?

Chau: So that'd be the right or left side?

Raleigh: *blushes* ...Left.

Chau: Thought so.

***

Cheung: Have you talked to him for more than five minutes?

Chau: I'm the interviewer, pal.

Cheung: He's an asshole.

Hu: *headshake*

Jin: He's not an asshole. He just hates green peppers. Who hates green peppers?

Chau: Green peppers are disgusting.

Jin: ...Are you even human?

Chau: ...Are you even legal citizens?

Weis: Hey!

***

Chau: So who's on top?

Chuck: We don't have fucking bunk beds, mate.

Chau: *eyeroll* I meant during sex.

Chuck: Oi! The fuck kind of question is that? Is that more of that gay profiling shite? Think one of us has to be the girl?

Chau: I don't--

Chuck: For your information, you fucking caveman, when we eventually do have sex, we'll probably switch. Unless one of us just likes it more one way.

Chau: ...You can do that?

Chuck: What?

Chau: Never mind.

***

Chau: Is Chuck a good driver?

Raleigh: Uh, you call him Red Hulk. What do you think?

Chau: ...Movin' on.

***

Chau: Are you a good driver?

Chuck: You call me Red Hulk. What the fuck do you think?

Chau: Great. You two finally agree on something.

Chuck: Nice. Wait, what?

***

Cheung: In my mind, I see Raleigh with someone shorter. Less red-headed.

Chau: You're talking about you, aren't you?

Cheung: Chuck is such an asshole!

Hu: *headshake*

Jin: Cheung, he's Australian, not an asshole.

Cheung: There's a difference?

Weis: *look at Chau*

Chau: What? Like I'm gonna argue?

***

Mamie: I loved him from the start. Chuck is... how you say... a diamond in the rough.

Chau: Personally, I think he's still a lump of coal.

Mamie: *waves a hand* You have not heard him chant in the woods to the World Tree. He has the good heart, yes?

Chau: If you say so. So, did everyone love him right off?

Mamie: Non. Non non non. And Coquette still does not like him." *produces a kitten*

Chau: How the hell did you even get that in here?

Mamie: We do not even mention Chuck's name around her.

Kitten: *hisses*

Mamie: See? Chuck. _Chuck_.

Kitten: *bares teeth and claws*

Mamie: You see? He is the only one she does not like.

Chau: Seriously, lady. How the hell?

***

Chuck: I'm just saying, mate, I pity every woman you've ever fucked. You clearly have no concept of equality in bed if you assume one of us big blokes has to be the girl.

Chau: We really can move on from this question. Please.

Chuck: Have you ever let a woman ride you? Pegging? Have you tried pegging? Letting someone else have the control?

Chau: Jesus, I think we're done.

Chuck: Fucking caveman.

***

Chau: So you've known Raleigh since you were eight?

Mako: Yes.

Chau: And you were close growing up?

Mako: *eyes narrow* Yes.

Chau: Did you ever suspect he was gay?

Mako: *lifts chin* I suspect Raleigh's heart does not care about gender.

Chau: An elegant answer. *leans across the desk* So... what are you doing later?

Mako: *smiles* Taking on all three of the Weis in the dojo down the street.

Chau: ...Right. Thanks for coming in. You're dismissed.

Mako: *smirks*

***

Mr. Kaidanovsky: ...

Chau: ...

Mrs. Kaidanovsky: ...

Chau: ...Thanks for coming in. You're dismissed.

Kaidanovskys: *smirk*

***

Chau: So, when did you first find out about your son's relationship with Raleigh?

Herc: Uh... day before yesterday, I think?

Stacker: I told you about it the day before when I rang you up.

Herc: Right, right. So... four days, is it?

Chau: Close enough. And what do you think about the match? Any thoughts?

Herc: *looks at Stacker*

Stacker: *looks at Herc* Why are you asking us questions about Chuck and Raleigh?

Chau: ...Because you're here to either prove or disprove the validity of their relationship?

Stacker: *blinks*

Herc: Uh... actually... we're here to apply for a marriage visa for me.

Chau: ...

Herc: This is the place, yeah?

Chau: ...You're not in danger of deportation. You just got here.

Herc: ...Yeah? And?

Stacker: We're actually getting married. He's moving to Alaska and helping me with the shop. We've been talking about it for years.

Chau: ...

Stacker: ...

Herc: ...So, this _is_ the place, yeah?

***

Chau: Do you have any nicknames for him?

Raleigh: Uh... honey, sometimes. Miel, which is "honey" in French. When I'm being a smartass, I call him pumpkin. Does that count?

Chau: Works for me.

***

Chau: Any nicknames for him?

Chuck: Call him "love" when I'm in a good mood. Uh... huh. Asshole doesn't count, does it?

Chau: For you, yeah, that's probably an endearment.

Chuck: Pretty sure I called him a prick once. Rotten sod or annoying bastard when he's being a smug shit. Uh... oi! Called him "precious" whilst I was jerking him off last night. That's a good one, yeah?

Chau: ...

Chuck: Oh, and sometimes I call him Ray. He hates it, but I think it's growing on him.

Chau: ...

***

Chau: Have you had even a half day at a time when you weren't snarking at each other in the past three years?

Raleigh: *tilts head like a puppy* What fun would that be?

Chau: ...

Raleigh: *blushes* Honestly, it kinda turns me on.

Chau: I fucking give up. You two assholes were made for each other. Get the hell out of my office.

Raleigh: ...

Chau: And congratulations.

Raleigh: Thanks!

Chau: Wackos.

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you made it this far, thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed and got a few laughs.


End file.
